


The Best Right In A Million Wrongs

by shamelessnameless



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Forgiveness, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mpreg, Past Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Past Neglect, References to Depression, Stillbirth, toxic masculinity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-15 02:46:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17520719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shamelessnameless/pseuds/shamelessnameless
Summary: 12 years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry gets impregnated by Draco and Lucius takes him in.It upsets a lot of what Harry thought true.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Possible triggers for this chapter: 
> 
> discusses suicide & grief / references to emotional neglect during childhood / traumatic events in childhood. 
> 
>  
> 
> Title stolen from "Go Solo" by Tom Rosenthal.

Harry reads about it one morning on the tube. Even though he is closer to 30 than 20 and has lived in the magical world for longer than he lived in the muggle world, some part of him is just not good at consistently remembering that he is a wizard. On more mornings than he can count, he finds himself already at the station before realizing that he could also apparate to work. 

The headline is small, not much more than a side-note in his muggle proved Daily Prophet; it’s a new feature the newspaper introduced half a year ago, adding a spell to its paper to make it appear to be the Times whenever muggles look at it. It’s been hugely popular. 

Draco Malfoy, it reads, has committed suicide in his Wiltshire home, hanging himself from an apple tree in his father’s garden. 

Harry’s heart constricts so painfully that he can barely breathe. 

\--

They fucked for the last time just three weeks ago. Draco was snide and rude as always, but fuck – also so funny, and quick-witted and unawed by Harry that Harry never minded much. 

If Harry is very truthful with himself, he rather didn’t mind at all. 

If Harry is very truthful with himself, he had hoped for months for something different, something more, kept kissing Draco deeper, lingered with his touches, slept over a few times. 

If Harry is very truthful with himself, he kind of wants to fling himself in front of the tube that morning.

\--

He goes to work that day and let’s himself not think about it. He goes to work for weeks after and doesn’t think about it at all, except for the random little intrusive thoughts popping up in his head; thinking of what Draco liked to eat when Harry is doing his own grocery shopping. Thinking of Draco complaining about beard burn on his skin when Harry does his shaving. Thinking, just once, of Lucius, all alone now in that big mansion after losing wife and son and of what Draco would say about it and Harry gets up from his workbench then and breathes for a few minutes in the toilet. 

\--

Harry didn’t really think about going into broom-making; when he was floundering around after the war, he met a quite a few professional players through Ginny and got more and more into it with time. 

Ginny has long left, but he likes how broom-making manages to be both very magical and very non-magical technical at all and so he sticks to it. 

\--

The first plunge into nausea comes at his workbench too. Draco has been dead for a month and Harry has had a hard time keeping his breakfast in. He settled down at his bench only to get up a minute later with the sudden inexplicable and unstoppable urge to throw up everything he has ever eaten. 

It happens again and again and again and after two weeks he makes his way to St. Mungo’s, however reluctantly. 

The news are heart-stopping. 

Later, after his mind settles into slow acceptance that some wizards can bear and birth babies, he listens to the heartbeat of his and Draco’s unborn child and tries not to compare it to how Draco’s heartbeat sounded when he allowed Harry to fall asleep on his chest. 

\--

Harry is probably the only idiot in the magical world who didn’t know about male pregnancies. It’s been a source of pride in pure-blood families for centuries; men able to bear children appear to be some kind of celebrity thing. Harry reads about statistical comparisons of bride and baby bearing groom prizes in medieval England and is quite awed by the numbers, if he is honest. 

\--

Hermione is, predictably, over the moon with the magic of it all, barely pausing to even ask who the other father is. She floundered forever between law and healing after Hogwarts, never quite making her peace with not being able to do both at the same time. 

Ron on the other hand doesn’t stop asking until Harry admits that the other father is deceased. Ron’s somewhat silent afterwards, clearly thinking. Harry isn’t really surprised to find a more detailed and off-public Autor record of Draco Malfoy’s death in his mail one day. 

They don’t talk about it after. 

\--

Harry doesn’t even think of Lucius once after finding out about the baby until he finds himself back at St. Mungo’s with various pains and aches, so tired he can barely keep awake while test after test is done on him. 

It was really too good to be true; he is told that male pregnancies require a stable mental, physical and loving bond between the two fathers, as they are entirely magical not biological in nature. Without the second father, Harry will not be able to carry the baby to term. 

The groom prizes make a lot more sense now. 

\--

It’s not unheard of fathers dying during the pregnancies of their partners, he is told while Ron holds his hand. Close and positive contact to remaining relatives of the deceased partners might be able to mitigate the effects long enough until the baby is big enough to survive after birth, he is told; close male relatives such as brothers or fathers are preferable. Simple contact won’t be enough as it would be in the case of the father of the baby; spells will need to be performed and potions have to be drunk and Harry sort of stops listening once Ron and the healer start discussing it all in depth. 

If the pregnancy terminates, he is told at the very end, after Ron nudges him to get his attention back, Harry is unlikely to survive unless the baby is stillborn. The healer looks truly sympathetic and sorry and Harry reassures him reflexively until Ron tugs him up. 

\--

After Lucius was paroled after seven years in Azkaban, he moved back into the Manor. His wealth was long gone and redistributed; all other property sold off. But the particular magic of wizarding homes made it impossible to sell or tear down the Manor; the almost sentient being of the house would have made that a murder, Ron tells Harry while they stand in front of the big entrance gate. 

Lucius, rumor has it, went into Malfoy Manor on the April morning he was set free and has not come out of it again in the last four years. 

I never had to do an official visit to him, Ron says, but I was told that he is achingly polite whenever colleagues needed to come over. He is using magic, but not much of it at all. Nothing dark whatsoever. 

It doesn’t exactly reassure Harry. 

\--

Lucius’ eyes travel down to the now visible bump before settling, cool and grey on Harry’s face. 

He has retained his figure, Harry notes; his hair is still shiny and the same pale-blond of Draco’s. It twinges somewhere in Harry’s chest, thinking of that. 

The dementors have never been reinstated at Azkaban; otherwise he would probably look different after seven years of it, Harry thinks. 

Ron does most of the talking that day. 

When he finishes, Lucius asks to feel the baby.

His hands look exactly like Draco’s; it makes Harry draw in a sharp breath; Lucius’ eyes flicking up to his face immediately. He settles his hands carefully on Harry’s tiny bump and doesn’t break their gaze. His face is completely impassive, the kind of mask that Draco never fully managed. 

\--

Lucius flat out refuses to move to London with Harry, but he settles him into a set of suites right next to his own. 

Harry ends up not having to explain much of anything at all really; he sometimes forgets what it can mean to be pureblood; to know about these things, to instinctively understand magic in a way Harry simply never will. Lucius knows the spells he has to do and does them easily, elegantly without once looking them up. 

“The potions you’ll have to order yourself,” he tells Harry dispassionately, “I am afraid that my funds will not cover them.”

It such an un-Malfoy thing to say that Harry has to look away from his face. 

\--

When Lucius finds out that Harry has been to self-conscious to find out how the fuck owl-ordering works for over ten years now, he laughs. Harry has never seen him laugh and kind of stares, but Lucius doesn’t seem to be too bothered with it, just shakes his head. 

He sits Harry down that evening and shows him how it is done, arm resting casually on the armrest of Harry’s chair, only just touching his back. It’s how Harry finds out that his constant headache is gone when Lucius touches him, but he doesn’t tell him that. 

\--

The nightmare tears through him like a lightning strike and Harry wakes screaming and crying four weeks after he moved in. 

Lucius apparates to Harry’s bedroom in a heartbeat, wand out and ready to attack before the situation sinks half way in for Harry. 

Lucius’ eyes are as cool as ever when he takes in Harry’s face, his shaking hands. He nods once at him and leaves through the door this time, not saying a word. 

\--

Apparating apparently violates Lucius’ terms of release and Harry travels into London to spend an embarrassing hour explaining the situation to Lucius’ probation officer. 

When he comes to the Manor late that day, Lucius sit in the salon, reading one of the highly complicated journals on magical theory Harry has only glanced at once before. 

He doesn’t even look up from his text when Harry tells him that there will be no repercussions, only nods at him.

\--

The most surprising thing about living with Lucius must be that he is as good with magical cooking as Molly Weasley. 

Harry hasn’t been at the Weasleys’ much in the last years, things awkward between Ginny and him and Molly and him and he is happy to eat the way he has gotten used to at Hogwarts and at the Burrow.

He finds out per chance that Lucius grows all the food himself and somehow that strikes him as terrible sad; the idea of him sitting between the plants and watering them because he does not even have a Galleon to himself almost too much to bear. 

\--

Harry’s hormones are out of whack, have been out of whack for a few weeks and so he finds himself crying at random times throughout the day over the most trivial things. He tries to hide it from Lucius, excuses himself quickly whenever he feels the tears coming, and Lucius lets him go without remark no matter how gracelessly he does it. 

\--

He is just five months pregnant when he wakes screaming from another dream. Lucius hasn’t barged into his room in weeks during the night and Harry was fine with it, but tonight he is not. He can’t stop shaking, can’t stop the trembling of his limbs, feels so strangely unprotected in his big bed and room. The baby is restless, kicking him and his feet are swollen and painful and he gets up to go down towards the kitchen to get a glass of water. 

The kitchen is probably his favorite part of the Manor; it hasn’t been used as a communal eating place before the war, but Lucius has obviously abandoned the luscious eating halls of his own youth. The kitchen is big with a wonderful wooden desk next to the cooking area. It always smells nice in there; the fire is always warm, and Harry has started to love the evenings here when he watches Lucius cook him dinner. 

Lucius sits at the table when he enters, only illuminated by the kitchen fire. His head is in his hands, an almost full Whiskey bottle next to him. It doesn’t look like he drunk more than a sip of the glass he poured himself. 

He is crying soundlessly, tears rolling down his cheeks like rivers. Harry has a flashback to cornering Draco in that Hogwarts bathroom so long ago and he stands motionless, watches with a heavy heart. When he finally goes back upstairs, Lucius is still crying without making a sound. 

\--

Harry goes to the Weasleys the next Sunday. He hasn’t felt particular well the last week, images of Lucius and Draco intermingling in his mind. He’s had a nightmare almost every night except for Saturday night when Lucius came by just after Harry had settled into bed and talked for 50 minutes about something he had read in his journals, voice calm and slow while Harry got progressively comfier and sleepier. It was the only day in the week in which Harry has not woken up screaming. 

Ron and Hermione haven’t told the others about his pregnancy he finds out. Molly is tearful, George snide, Fleur and Bill are full of advice Harry would probably be interested in if Ginny wouldn’t whisper homophobic remarks to Percy every few minutes. 

He excuses himself to go to the bathroom after starters, nerves frayed and mind so anxious that he needs a breather. 

He hears the bell ring but doesn’t react to it; it’s not his house after all. When he comes back down, Lucius Malfoy stands tall and proud facing off the Weasleys, face so impassive as if he spends his Sundays over at the Burrow regularly. 

Most of the Weasleys draw the conclusion that Lucius must be the father and the shouting starts pretty much immediately. Lucius simply looks at Harry and tells him that the stress he is under is harming his unborn child. 

Harry thinks he remembers Lucius dimly of talking about a tracking spell that would allow him to know if Harry was distressed when out, but Harry hadn’t even noticed him putting it on him this morning. 

When Molly, George, Ginny and Percy are all suitably disgusted with the baby being Draco’s child after all, Arthur tries to offer Lucius a seat on the table. Ginny’s face is red when she screams at Arthur about it; how can Arthur dare invite someone who hurt her terribly; Harry isn’t even family. 

Lucius goes to him then, tugs him close and apparates them before Harry can even think of something to say. 

\--

Not family, not family, not family runs like a badly-built and jaunty looping melody through Harry’s mind. He’s not a Weasley; he knew that, and he remembered it again when he broke up with Ginny, but it still hurts. Ron’s furious on Harry’s behalf, Hermione pitying, Bill undecided but what does it matter really; in the end Ginny has only spoken the truth. 

Harry doesn’t have a family; Harry hasn’t had one in almost 30 years, has only gotten enough glimpses to truly, deeply crave one. Sirius or Remus hadn’t been all that interested in Harry when it comes down to it, but they gave him more than Harry had had before. The Weasleys went out of their way to make him feel welcome even if their love of him turned out to be conditional after all. 

The worst must have been Hermione and Ron and they didn’t mean any harm. Harry should have known that family always also means exclusiveness; they maybe didn’t want to have a private life apart from Harry, but they still needed it to grow as a couple. 

Harry should have known that he doesn’t deserve a family just like Uncle Vernon has said. 

\--

Lucius probation officer looks distinctly uninterested in Harry trying to explain why Lucius has had to apparate yet again. This time he has to pay a fine and it goes onto official record. 

Just like last time, Lucius doesn’t appear to be interested in it at all, but Harry notes that the journal he is reading when Harry gets back is the same one he was reading when Harry got back the last time. 

\--

Lucius comes to him a few days later, simply gets into Harry’s bed where Harry is yet again crying from loneliness and grief at four o’clock in the morning. 

He settles Harry on his chest, one hand combing through Harry’s hair slowly, the other loosely wrapped around Harry’s fingers resting on Lucius’ chest. They don’t talk, and Harry soon feels drowsy despite the weirdness of having Lucius Malfoy touch him, having Lucius Malfoy in his bed in just his pyjamas. Harry snuggles closer because he knows that there is probably not anything Lucius cannot handle once he has decided he will handle it and Harry being clingy right now doesn’t bother him after having made the decision to come to Harry in the first place. 

“I’m sorry Harry,” Lucius says when Harry hiccups through a shaky explanation of why he’s so hurt about Ginny’s comment that is mostly truthful. 

Lucius lets go of his fingers to rub a hand over Harry’s belly just before he falls asleep and Harry goes boneless with the feeling of it, so warm and protected that he seems to drift apart like a humulus cloud in a breeze. 

\--

It’s Harry’s 30th birthday a while later. He floos to meet Ron and Hermione for lunch, not feeling up for much more. He doesn’t feel like celebrating. 

For over 12 years after the battle, Harry has somehow made due with life. He doesn’t want to continue that; he doesn’t want to feel so unsteady mentally any more. It’s exhausting, and Harry will soon have to care for another human and he can’t even care for himself. 

Lucius was a basket case when he was sentenced to Azkaban but somehow, he managed to work out most of his own emotional baggage and now he’s a fully well-functioning adult who can even deal rationally with painful memories in a non-self-destructive way. 

It gives Harry a lot of hope. 

When he comes home, he finds a birthday cake and a present from Lucius and he’s so touched he can’t even say thank you, just goes and hugs Lucius. 

The present turns out to be bathrobe; weeks ago, Harry complained to Lucius about needing one. Harry’s so touched by him remembering that he almost gets into a crying fit again. 

In the evening, Lucius cooks them dinner. It’s so nice and domestic that it makes Harry ache with longing. 

\--

Harry starts to water Lucius’ plants, all his tomatoes and salads and paprika. Lucius uses a spell for it, but Harry likes to feel the sun on his face, likes to smell all that fresh produce smell. It’s quiet and peaceful out in the gardens behind the Manor and Harry sort of gets why nobody would want to leave it behind. 

He stumbles upon the apple tree by chance and it’s not like Harry would know which one it was; Lucius has at least 50 of them. But his magic knows somehow, and the baby knows somehow and the grief that wells up in Harry is so intense that it drops him to his knees. 

All the what-ifs of his life are tied to that tree. 

All his guilt is too. 

From the file Ron gave him, Draco didn’t have friends or even casual contacts, kept to himself at work, worked overtime more than anyone else. He spent all of his nights alone at the tiny one-bedroom apartment he could afford.

His book shelf had been full of psychology books when Aurors had searched his flat after his death; he had marked passages that explained how to deal with traumatic events. 

He had needed help, and nobody had given it to him. 

Harry can’t think of it for too long without wanting to put himself on another one of Lucius’ trees.

\--

Lucius’ hands are warm when they cup Harry’s cheeks two weeks later. Harry has spent a lot of time in front of that apple tree by then; Harry hasn’t felt very human just as long. 

“You are an idiot, Potter,” Lucius says. 

Lucius carries him back inside the Manor, brings him up and settles him in Harry’s bed without breaking a sweat. 

Harry has never had that final growth spurt; even pregnant he can’t hold on to any excess weight. Lucius towers over him; is a full head taller and Harry wouldn’t want to do arm wrestling against him even in jest; he has seen the man’s fitness routine. 

The baby has not been dealing well with the exposure to the place of death of one of his fathers, Harry is told by the healer frowning at his stomach. 

The thought of hurting his child is painful. Lucius tuts at him when he tears up, resting his hand softly on Harry’s brow for a moment. 

“It’s part of fatherhood to hurt your children from time to time without wanting to,” he tells Harry softly, “it doesn’t make you a bad father, Harry; it’s just something that happens.”

“Closer contact,” the healer says before leaving, “between you and the grandfather would be advisable for the next few days.”

\--

Closer contact in Lucius’ book means that Harry is now woken up with a cup of tea each morning. Lucius carries the paper with him when he settles next to Harry and Harry wakes up slow while Lucius pets his hair, rests a hand on his belly. 

Throughout the day, Lucius will find Harry multiple times wherever he is, calmly wrapping him into his arms, calmly stroking Harry’s growing belly. 

They never talk to each other, but it’s still so intimate, so tender, so – 

it’s so loving that it floors Harry, leaves him untethered and wallowing, waiting for more, aching for more of it. He’s never been touched like this, by anyone. No one has cared about him like this, or at least giving him that much touch without second thought. No one has sheltered him like Lucius does, taking him in without question even though Harry knows his relationship to Draco was more than fraught with conflict after the war.

It upsets a lot of what Harry thought true. 

\--

The question that brings it all to crush to the ground and burn is stupid; Harry has not even thought it through. It just stumbles out of this mouth like things sometimes do for Harry. 

“A Malfoy heir?” Lucius says. Harry hasn’t seen the sneer in so long, he forgot how much he hates it. 

“It’s an illicit child and a half-blood,” Lucius says dismissively, angrily, punishingly, “it does not have the blood to be a Malfoy heir. There will be no more Malfoys after me; your child will not be more than a Potter.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for warning to not get spoilered.

Harry knows he cannot leave, not really, not if he wants his child even if it’s only a Potter, but he still packs his bags and apparates home to his London flat. 

He finds a forgotten milk in his fridge and throws it out. The flat is cold and grey; Harry has never tried to make it a home and he doesn’t bother with lightening the fire, just sits in the dark and quiet for a long time. 

He doesn’t care about the child being a Malfoy or not; it’s not why he asked. In a way he was genuinely curious; living with Lucius who is as pureblood as you can get has been eye-opening for Harry. 

Harry will never for a second believe in blood superiority, but he can immediately understand that there are worlds of difference between the way he lives his life and how Lucius does or did even though they are both magical. He’s been intrigued by it in the last few weeks; Lucius’ vast amount of knowledge that Harry will never catch up with, the way even the tiniest thing in the Manor comes from magic not from engineering or construction. 

He thought that it’s kind of nice that his child would get that; that connection to a history so different from the one Harry was taught in school. 

But he hasn’t even asked if Lucius will be interested in seeing the child after birth. It’s just a Potter after all. Lucius’ acceptance of Harry’s new position in his life seemed so easy, so genuine that Harry hasn’t stopped to ask once what it really meant; he didn’t want to drag back up old history because it can only hurt them both. 

The past has destroyed Narcissa and it has destroyed Draco. Harry is not sure what it has done to Lucius. 

Harry doesn’t want to know. He’s gotten attached; he doesn’t want to unattach himself. He doesn’t want to know if Lucius is the same calculating bastard of ten years ago. 

He’s so sad he feels he could drown in it. 

\--

He wakes from a twinge in his belly, neck stiff from where he fell asleep on the couch. 

When Harry gets up white-hot pain travels from his abdomen up his spine; the cramp that follows has him gasping. 

No, he thinks, empathically, pathetically. 

He has brought this on himself. 

St. Mungo’s promises to get Lucius to him when Harry is being floated to an examination room. That tracking spell apparently needs to be renewed every time Harry leaves Lucius’ vicinity; or maybe Lucius knows what’s going on and just doesn’t care, Harry thinks bitterly. 

He feels bad for that thought 15 minutes later when Lucius storms into his room, eyes terrified. He’s at Harry’s side in an instant, visibly calms and steels himself when Harry whimpers with a fresh wave of pain. 

It’s something Harry admires about him; that ability to only focus on the task at hand, to become calm in the face of a storm. 

He always thought that was a Gryffindor quality. 

Lucius sits himself down next to Harry’s head, let’s Harry cling to one hand, strokes Harry’s hair back from his eyes with the other. His fingers linger over Harry’s temples, gently rubbing. 

The baby is too early; Harry is only at just six months. Male pregnancies take 11 months to come to term; the baby won’t survive if it comes now. 

Harry will probably not survive if it comes now. 

Harry’s crying before he knows it; doesn’t even know why. He’s never been scared for his life and he isn’t now, but he is scared for the baby. Maybe, possibly, he is also scared of leaving the people behind he loves; of leaving Lucius behind most of all. 

Lucius leans down, strong shoulders and back a wall between Harry and the healers trying to save the child, his life. It helps him calm a little. 

“Harry,” Lucius says, softly, calmly, only for Harry, “don’t panic. You need to try and relax; focus on the baby. Keep it here with you; it can feel you, it reacts to you. You can feel it too; reach out to it.”

“I can’t,” Harry says and it’s true; he’s read about the special connection between father and baby in his books, but he hasn’t felt it. It’s supposed to be an important part of male pregnancies; Harry couldn’t admit to not feeling it before. He’s not entirely sure why; lingering thoughts of horcruxes and being called a freak during his formative years play a role, no doubt, but they are not the full reason. 

“You can,” Lucius says and sounds so sure that Harry almost believes him, “you just need to stop being afraid of fully feeling the baby.”

“Draco’s not here,” Harry hears himself say. He sounds miserable; he sounds plaintive. 

Harry didn’t even know Draco not being with them any longer was still such an open wound for him, but the second the words leave his mouth he feels like he’s dying. He wants Draco here; this baby would have given them a chance nobody else could give them. 

Just like Draco, Harry hasn’t really been living his life. He was aching after the war; thinking about all the things Dumbledore and every other adult he knew did to him. He felt lost and unloved and it has kept him back, has made him shy back from any knew relationships or friendships, unable to trust anyone. Harry can’t ask for the things he needs; Harry’s been terrified that intimate details of his life would leak to the press if he allowed other people in. 

So he stuck with whom he knew and watched his friends go forward, go on. George was for some time the only one who seemed as stuck as Harry, but he’s been able to live his life again in the last few years. 

Harry wasn’t in love with Draco, but he could have been; Draco knew more about being unable to live up to expectations than anyone else. 

Lucius’ face remains impassive, but he leans down, hugging Harry’s prone upper body. 

“I am sorry,” he says, nothing else. Harry sniffles and presses his face against Lucius’ neck and Lucius inhales deeply before turning his face and kissing Harry’s ear. 

“You must try anyways,” Lucius says, quietly, after some time. “We can’t bring him back, Harry. If you need a reason, try for me. I need you and I need the baby.”

When he says it, it doesn’t even sound all that strange to Harry and so he tries harder; the Gryffindor in him finds it easier to tackle problems if he is doing it not for himself but for others. 

Only later he will think of the voluminousness of the statement, of having Lucius Malfoy admit that he needs and wants Harry in his life. 

At the moment, he focuses on the baby and feels the fleeting link between them for a moment. He gasps with it, tries to instinctively follow it. 

Lucius holds him through it.

\--

Labour can be stopped by his healers, but Harry is on bedrest and in observation for at least another six days. He might be able to go back to the Manor after that where he will have to remain on bedrest, but Harry can’t think too much of it now without getting so restless that Lucius frowns at him from where he sits reading near the window. 

Too many things remain unsaid, unexplained between Lucius and him and he gets upset when he dwells on them, but Harry is still eternally grateful for Lucius’ presence, for him staying and making sure Harry has what he needs, a steady presence on his side when he shuffles to the loo or when a cramp makes him uncomfortable. 

Ron is the first to visit, followed by Hermione a few hours later. George stops by, as does Bill and just when Harry is about to nod off once more, Molly, Arthur and Ginny enter. 

Lucius has excused himself for the other visits, but he doesn’t for this one, even stops reading, fingers folding elegantly in his lap, eyes cool. 

Harry has the feeling he would get up and sit himself down next to Harry if the move wouldn’t be a clear offense to the Weasleys. 

Molly does most of the talking and Harry is glad for it, allows her to fuss over him and smiles at her when she gently berates him for being not careful enough with himself. Arthur is mostly smiling kindly at Harry and fussing with his blankets. Ginny is tight-lipped and just a tiny bit rude; it’s clear that it’s an imposition on her time to have to be here and Harry isn’t sure why she bothered at all; Molly most likely forced her, because it’s the courteous thing to do. 

He doesn’t really expect her to apologize for what she said the last time they’ve seen each other, but it still stings that she doesn’t even bring it up. 

Molly’s still talking about her pregnancies when the baby kicks Harry harder than it has in days and it’s such a relief that Harry starts tearing up immediately. 

Molly frowns at him, but Lucius is already moving, saying what do you need in such an urgent tone that Harry can only grab his hand in answer and press it to where the baby is moving. 

The smile Lucius gives him is open, unguarded. Molly and Ginny both miss it, but Harry sees Arthur see it; can practically see how Arthur is thinking on it. 

The Weasleys say goodbye shortly after; Lucius still has a hand on Harry’s belly, sits down on the side of Harry’s bed after they are gone. 

They don’t talk, both just feeling. 

\--

The stillness in Harry’s hospital room starts to get to him on the fourth day and he is getting itchy, a bit testy. Lucius has to bear the brunt of it, but he doesn’t comment on Harry’s foul mood, just goes to the cafeteria to get Harry a treat, goes to get him another blanket, goes to get him a book. 

When none of these things help, he goes and gets them a backgammon set, patiently teaching Harry the game, teasing him when he loses again and again. 

\--

The night before Harry is due to get released, he can’t sleep. 

Lucius transformed his chair into a bed a long time ago and is breathing deeply at the other end of the room. 

He hasn’t left Harry’s side since appearing at it in the examination room, coaxing Harry through the various things he had had to do in the hospital, offering a willing ear and willing arms to draw comfort from. 

Throughout it all, he’s been nothing but gentle and patient with Harry and Harry can’t stop thinking on it. 

He hasn’t really known Lucius before, but the difference between the Lucius he has seen glimpses of and this Lucius is so vast, that it almost feels as if they must be two different people. 

Harry would like to ask, but he doesn’t think there is a way to inoffensively ask how the fuck Lucius can take care of Harry like he does when he also tried to kill him when he was 15. 

He’d like to ask why did you do it and encompass all of it; following Voldemort, falling out with him, Draco, himself. 

“Lucius,” he tries and of course, Lucius is awake instantly, asking what in a voice just a little too hoarse to be faking sleep before. 

“Why did you do it?” Harry says and doesn’t elaborate. 

The question has been at the fringes of their relationship from the moment Harry came to see Lucius with Ron. Their joined history should have made it impossible for Lucius to even allow Harry in and yet, somehow, here they are. 

Lucius doesn’t pretend to misunderstand and Harry is grateful for that. He takes in a deep breath instead, slowly breathing out. 

“My father wanted it the first time,” he says, “the second time, I didn’t know how to get out of it. He would have killed me and my family if we hadn’t returned. I wanted us to come out alive; I thought it was the best choice to achieve that.”

Harry is silent; this he could guess already. He refuses to feel disappointed in the answer; it’s honest after all, even if it is less than a half-truth.

Lucius listens to his silence and then sighs deeply. Harry sees him lift a hand to rub over his eyes and refuses to feel bad about this; he needs to know. 

“I believed in what he said about pure-bloods,” Lucius says, still so very careful with his infliction, “I liked the violence. I liked to feel powerful. I wasn’t very powerful back at home as long as my father was alive. He felt that there was a disconnect there and he exploited it skilfully. In a way I knew what he was doing, but I didn’t care; it was extremely releasing to be told I was the more important Malfoy.” 

“Why?” Harry asks. 

“Harry,” Lucius answers, “you don’t want to know.”

“I do,” Harry says and refuses to sound petulant. 

Lucius is silent for so long that Harry is half convinced he won’t answer by the time he speaks again.

“My father had a hard childhood himself,” Lucius says, “he had ideas of how a Malfoy should be and I didn’t fit that idea. He was unhappy in his marriage, with his life; he moved in a very violent environment and he was very violent in turn. He wanted me to be able to dominate in wizarding high class and he thought I didn’t have what it took to do so; he tried to mold and form me to make me harder, less caring, less emotional.”

There’s so much he isn’t saying, so many blanks Harry can fill in that Harry aches for him. 

“I absorbed these lessons. Some I internalized and loved, others I always detested and fought. I started hating it when I was emotional or out of control, because I believed it to be weak to show feelings. We fought a lot, in a very unequal way because I didn’t dare to openly challenge him. When my mother died it got worse; it was only the two of us in that big house and he had time on his hands. He liked to shame me in front of his friends and in front of my friends, but it wasn’t something unusual; in my peer group everyone did these things. Nobody ever told anyone to stop.”

“I don’t want to make excuses,” Lucius continues when Harry doesn’t say anything else, “but I didn’t even realize that I wanted to be softer until Draco was born. I knew for certain that – that I never wanted Draco to feel what I felt for my own father, but I underestimated how deeply I was entrenched in pure-bloodism already. I couldn’t find a way to disengage my family without leaving England and I was scared of what would happen if we did. Some acquaintances of mine had always been suspicious of my allegiances and I was afraid they would become nervous when I was out of their reach.”

“Your allegiances?” Harry asks as neutrally as he can. 

“Were to myself,” Lucius says, “were to Draco. Were to the history of my family line; I was always proud of that. I was proud of the Malfoys being known to be slippery, being known to be able to influence and shape the world around us. I wanted to be a part of something bigger. I didn’t see some warning signs that might have given me pause, that might have made me break with my father and him. Back then, I was more afraid of my father than of him and my father needed only to look at me to know what I was thinking, so I pushed all my loathing of the situation down and tried to emerge myself as deeply as I could. When I wanted out, it was too late.”

“You don’t talk about Narcissa,” Harry says. He can admit to himself that he is a tiny bit more interested in the answer to that statement than he probably should be, but he has wondered for a long time now. 

“You know why,” Lucius says, and Harry shakes his head in the dark but doesn’t answer. 

Lucius sighs again, deeply. 

“It was a marriage of convenience my father wanted,” he says and then nothing else. Harry doesn’t press him on it. 

“One last question,” Harry says, “imagine Voldemort came back tomorrow. What would you –“

“Kill myself,” Lucius says before he can finish. 

“What?” Harry asks, bewildered. 

“My child is dead because of me,” Lucius says, “my child died hating me. I ruined the Malfoy name. I ruined my whole life. He would not allow me to stay neutral; therefore, I would kill myself.”

“Lucius,” Harry says to get him to stop talking. 

In the dark, Lucius gets up and walks over to Harry, lays a hand on his belly. The baby is barely moving; Lucius’ fingers follow the curve of Harry’s stomach for a moment. 

“When you came by,” Lucius says very quietly, “I stopped the plans I had made for myself. There was a ritual I needed to perform four months after Draco’s day of death that my family has performed for centuries; the details are not important. It needed to be done before I could settle him in our family vault.”

“You wanted to kill yourself, too,” Harry says, and it hurts; deeply, achingly. 

“Yes,” Lucius replies, easily. 

Harry doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what to ask but he needs – he needs – 

“Harry,” Lucius says, “there was nothing left for me to live for. The situation has changed now; you understand that, yes?”

“Will you be seeing the baby when it’s born?” Harry asks, urgently. He can’t talk about the other thing, but it’s good to know. 

“Harry, of course,” Lucius says, and he sounds pained, “why did you think I wouldn’t?” 

Harry can’t look at him when he whispers: “It’s not a Malfoy, it’s just a Potter.”

The silence is defeating afterwards. After a moment, Lucius takes away his hand and Harry makes a move to grab it back, but Lucius steps out of his reach fluidly. 

“Get some sleep,” he says, voice rough and choked, “I’ll be going out for a bit.”

Harry moves to grab at him, but Lucius sidesteps him, turning away decisively. 

“What do you want from me, Harry?” he says, and he sounds just this side of hurt to make Harry stop, realizing with a cold drop in his stomach, that he doesn’t have any kind of rights to Lucius, doesn’t have any kind of pledge to his time and good-will and friendship.

Lucius isn’t the father of the baby; Lucius can decide to walk away and there is nothing Harry can do to stop him.

\--

Harry gets no sleep of course for all of the three minutes it takes Lucius to storm back into his room. 

He looks agitated and paces and then he makes a decisive turn towards Harry, sitting down on the side of Harry’s bed and grabbing both of his hands to hold in his own. 

“That baby is the last link to my child,” he says, carefully, looking at Harry as if he wants to make sure that Harry absorbs that statement fully before continuing. 

Harry nods, confused. 

“Being a Malfoy killed my child,” Lucius says, “I wouldn’t want another child to be a Malfoy. Just being a Potter is more than good enough in my book.”

\--

Harry wakes up next morning stuffed up and drooling on Lucius’ chest. It’s probably not a surprise after all the crying he did last night; it’s probably not a surprise after feeling as if his heart has been carved out. 

“It’s still illicit and a half-blood,” Lucius whispered to him last night when Harry could finally stop crying over it all, “but I can of course make it a Malfoy heir, if you want that.”

Harry shook his head no and clung tighter. Lucius rubbed his back. 

Harry’s released after lunch time with a list on strict limitations of things he cannot do, and he is already tired by the time they reach the manor in a ministry car that Ron has gotten them. Apparating and flooing are forbidden to Harry now and he can’t say that he minds. But the drive takes forever, and Harry keeps nodding off only to jerk back his head every few minutes until Lucius nudges him to rest against Lucius’ shoulder. 

At the manor, Lucius insists on carrying Harry to his room, after Harry needs to take a break in the middle of the staircase. Harry doesn’t even know what’s gotten into him; but everything seems difficult and hard and he falls asleep pretty much the second his head hits the pillow, only wakes up briefly to eat some of the food Lucius has prepared. 

\--

The next three months are hard for Harry. He cannot do much more than rest in the various rooms of the manor. He isn’t on strict bedrest anymore but has been told to take it easy and Harry spends much of his day reading, sleeping or snacking. 

It’s Ron who brings by the prototype broom Harry’s been working on and Lucius spends some hours setting up a table for Harry to work on in the kitchen. It’s where they spent most of their hours; Lucius working on preserving the last of his summer fruits, berries and vegetables, Harry working on his broom. 

“Do you enjoy it?” Lucius asks one day and nods at the broom when Harry is confused.

“It’s alright,” Harry says, “I wouldn’t know what else to do.”

Lucius laughs quietly at him. 

“It’s alright,” he parrots, “don’t you think that’s a little insufficient for a fulfilling career?”

“Er, it’s not exactly a career,” Harry mumbles and tries not to look at Lucius. 

“Why not?” Lucius asks him and settles down on the edge of Harry’s working table. 

“I mean, I don’t do much with it,” Harry says and tries to focus away from Lucius’ piercing gaze. 

“You could have done pretty much anything after the war,” Lucius says and lets the statement hang in the air. 

“I wasn’t in the best shape after the war,” Harry mumbles.

“Harry,” Lucius says, and his voice is very soft. 

“I’m maybe still not in the best shape,” Harry whispers. He is out of breath just admitting that. 

“You’re just alright,” Lucius says, still in that soft voice. 

“I had a counsellor visiting me in Azkaban in my last years there,” he goes on after a moment, “Draco paid for him. It helped a lot. Maybe something to give a thought to?”

“Yeah,” Harry says and can’t say anything else. 

“There is no shame in asking for help, Harry,” Lucius says. 

Harry nods at him and Lucius leaves to go back to his oven after a long moment of studying Harry.

\--

Ron comes by more often after Harry’s been in hospital and with time, Harry and Ron stop looking for an unoccupied room and just stay in the kitchen. With time, Lucius stops excusing himself every time Ron visits and once they discover that they are equally good and equally competitive at chess, Ron and Lucius spend a lot of time glaring at each other across the board while Harry sips his tea and makes fun of them. 

Harry catches himself thinking, this could work out after all one day and doesn’t even know what his mind is referring too – living with his child in the manor in the future which he secretly wishes to do or his growing and increasingly deep feelings for Lucius. 

He doesn’t investigate the feeling further; Harry has long made his peace with not getting what he wanted the most since looking into the Mirror of Erised and he is not about to disturb the balance of the good thing he has going here even if he has wanted to kiss Lucius for at least four weeks. 

\--

Two weeks before Harry loses the baby, he does kiss Lucius after all. 

It’s an impulse after Lucius has gotten up to get him some juice. It’s just – so nice to have someone willing to get up for him, doing all these little chores and Harry has never felt so cared for in all his life and he’s very likely misreading signs and signals but it doesn’t stop him from leaning over and kissing Lucius. 

Lucius kisses him back just once and then gently takes Harry’s face in his hands and eases him off. 

“Harry,” he says and there’s affection there and so much warmth, but also, unmissably, regret. 

It feels like a douse of ice water all over Harry’s skin. 

“I’m too old for you,” Lucius says, “I have nothing to offer you. Think about what to tell the baby; think about what to tell your friends. Think of our history. You do deserve more than you can have with me.”

Harry’s pretty sure he isn’t the only one still living in the past after that. 

\--

Their relationship remains friendly, intimate, tender though. Lucius treats Harry just like he treated him before the kiss and maybe Harry can blame it all on the fact that he gets easily besotted once someone shows him any kind of non-sexual kindness. 

It’s Lucius too who first notices that something is wrong once Harry feels dead tired for the third day in a row during his tenth month of pregnancy. The healer he calls in gets a very worried look soon enough while examining Harry and before he knows it, they are portkeyed to St. Mungo’s.

The baby’s heartbeat has stopped. 

It’s Lucius who gets Harry through the following hours, holding his hand throughout all examinations. It’s Lucius who holds Harry in his lap, gently rocking him while Harry cries his heart out as they wait for Hermione to come in from work; Ron sits next to them looking sad and helpless. 

It’s Lucius’ hand Harry clutches and presses after he’s been induced and Lucius’ calm voice telling him to press or relax or breathe until the baby is – well, not born, but out of Harry. 

It’s Lucius who gives Harry the child after it’s been cleaned to say good-bye. The baby is fully developed, but tiny and Harry studies the tiny nose and the fingers, the goddamn toes. 

It would have been a boy, and something howls in Harry. 

“Does he look like Draco?” he says, teary-eyed and Lucius reaches out to stroke his fingers over the baby’s head, very slowly and very gently. 

“Yes,” he answers, and Harry can tell that he is as shaken as Harry is and it eases some of the terrible pain Harry is feeling, knowing that he’s not alone in this. 

“Will you give him a name?” Harry pleads, and Lucius hesitates, stalling for time even if he doesn’t say so. 

“How about Leo?” he asks after a while and Harry nods and then he is crying horribly, and Lucius is hugging him and then Ron’s there and Hermione and they are hugging him too. 

\--

Harry has to stay in observation for another two days and it wouldn’t be so bad if his nipples would stop lactating. 

That part of male pregnancy already freaked him out when he was only reading about it, and it’s so much worse than Harry expected. Without a baby to take milk from him, his nipples are raw and uncomfortable, heavy and foreign on Harry’s chest. He’s been given a potion to stop the producing of more milk. It makes his remaining milk unsafe for any other baby to drink and so, for all of magic’s many advantages, in this it can’t help. 

Harry has only two options left to get his remaining milk out and they are both manual; squeezing himself or allowing an adult to drink from him. 

Lucius watches him whimper and cry through the squeezing for half a day, before he resolutely sits down and bats Harry’s hands away. 

“No,” Harry pleads when Lucius has his hands pinned down to the mattress. 

“Harry,” Lucius says, voice the very epitome of reason, “you are uncomfortable, you are in pain, your nipples look as if they will fall off any minute. Just stop being so goddamn proud and let me do this.”

“Lucius,” Harry protests and tries to wiggle free but it’s no use; Lucius’ lips against his tender nipples feel so good, Harry groans and goes still with the first touch. 

He knows it’s all hormonal and completely natural, but at the back of his mind, he is still shocked by the calm feeling washing over him when the unease in his chest finally lets off, when Lucius sucks him gently and carefully and slowly. Harry goes boneless after a while, ignores the little voice crying out freaky, freaky, so freakish in his head and Lucius lets go of his hands to hold his ribcage instead. 

Harry falls asleep before Lucius is finished. 

\--

Harry doesn’t want to move out but without a grandchild to claim, he has no idea how to ask Lucius if he can stay and so he packs his bags two weeks later and tries to ignore the burning behind his eyes. 

They buried Leo in the Malfoy family vault after coming back from the hospital and Harry is so grateful to Lucius for handling it all; the paperwork, the certificates, getting an extension for leave from Harry’s job and notifying his friends. 

Lucius waits for him in the salon, in a suit that looks much too good to be worn on a boring Tuesday. 

“Harry,” he says after Harry has stumbled through his thanks and stands there, tortured by his longing. He presses a name card into Harry’s hand after some hesitation. 

“That’s my mind healer,” Lucius says, “I think you should – I think you should go and talk to someone after – everything, yes?”

Harry feels sort of numb. He half expects Uncle Vernon to show up and call him a freak who now even needs therapy.

“You’ve been through a lot Harry,” Lucius says softly, “and pregnancy isn’t easy but you – you seem to suffer so much, and I want you to know that you can get help, ok? Professional help from people you can make you feel better. I think you deserve to be happier.”

They hug after they are saying their goodbyes and in the twirl of the floo, Harry thinks that Lucius looks just as lost and small as Harry feels. 

It’s probably wishful thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a native speaker / this is not beta'ed. You can find me here if you want to ask any questions about this series: https://foxincrepuscularlight.tumblr.com/
> 
> Warnings: this chapter deals with a stillbirth / grief.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a native speaker / this is not beta'ed. You can find me here if you want to ask any questions about this series: https://foxincrepuscularlight.tumblr.com/
> 
> Warnings: this chapter deals with discussing suicide / grief.
> 
> My naughty French isn't that good, so if you are a native speaker and find a mistake, do let me know!

Harry finally calls the mind healer four months later after he wakes up from a total blackout with two guys in his apartment and has no recollection what he has allowed them to do, but he hurts and aches somewhat fierce in very private parts of his body.  

 

 _At least, not pregnant_ , he thinks bitterly a few weeks later after doing a check-up test.

 

\--

 

Harry talks and talks and talks and the mind healer says smart things and it helps.

 

It helps so much he can believe it took him so long to get that kind of help.

 

\--

 

That’s not to say, that Harry doesn’t fuck up often enough, especially when it comes to food. He forgets eating all the time and when he remembers, he misses Lucius’ cooking so fiercely that it hurts like a real thing in his chest.

 

 _It’s not just the food, it’s the company,_ a treacherous little voice whispers in his head that he ruthlessly quells down.

 

\--

 

It’s Ron who gives Harry the blessing he needs.

 

He just shows up one day at Harry’s workbench and takes Harry for a beer and when they’ve discussed everything surrounding Quidditch they can discuss, Ron leans forward and says: “It’s okay.”

 

“Er?” Harry says, honestly confused.

 

“Loving Lucius,” Ron says, completely calm.

 

Harry chokes on his beer.

 

“I wasn’t too happy at first,” Ron says, “but he’s been – Merlin, Harry, he’s been nothing but wonderful to you. And you deserve so much to have someone who treats you like he does. So, if you needed permission or encouragement to try it, you have it, from Hermione and me.”

 

“Ron,” Harry says, voice thick, “he doesn’t – I mean I – he –“

 

“He turned you down,” Ron says, “let me guess, while you were pregnant? I can understand that he did that; it wouldn’t have been easy with a child that was his son’s, but – Mate, Leo isn’t here, and I am still so sorry for you, but I’m sure Lucius sees things differently now. You just need to be brave again and go talk to him.”

 

“I don’t know,” Harry says and shreds another beer coaster lying on the table.

 

“I am 100 percent sure that Lucius Malfoy loves you,” Ron says, still so very calm, “and he has already proven that he takes better care of you than Hermione and I did in the last years. Harry, no, let me finish – he didn’t just stand by when you had panic attacks or when you felt depressed or when you needed a real cry. He’s been guiding you through them and he gave you that contact for professional help and I or Hermione should have done the same for you and not just accept that you weren’t ready.”

 

“I wasn’t,” Harry says in a very small voice.

 

“You would have been,” Ron says, “but what’s more important is that Lucius saw that you had a need and he made sure you felt – protected. He took care of you. I’ve never met his Dad but I’m guessing he understands having a not ideal childhood much better than Hermione and I can understand.”

 

Harry nods, not trusting his voice.

 

“I know you’re scared,” Ron says, “and I’m sure Lucius is still an arrogant prick and too full of himself and we should probably never talk about what it means to be pure-blood, but I also – I’ve met some honestly horrible people since becoming an Auror and the more I know of the world, the more I feel as if a lot of the things Lucius did were done because he saw no other way out. I mean, I still wouldn’t want to cross him, and Rose and Hugo better not become too fond of him but you’re an adult and you can handle yourself and you deserve to be happy, Harry. I know you – you’ll deal with everything else just fine once it comes along. So, don’t worry about the press or my sister or anyone else, just go and do something just for yourself for once.”

 

\--

 

 _I’ve been to the mind healer,_ Harry writes that evening, _and it’s been a big help. I wanted to thank you for ages for recommending him._

_I’m glad,_ Lucius writes back, _I hope you are feeling better._

\--

 

They keep up a somewhat loose correspondence while Harry tries to make up his mind.

  
He doesn’t need to lie to himself – Harry knows he wants a stable and loving relationship and if he tries to give this another go, it can’t be something short-term or superficial. He has been thinking about Lucius for months now and he yearns for him in a way Harry has never yearned for anyone.

 

There are some undeniable weird things between them; fucking Draco being just one of them. Lucius is maybe a teeny tiny tad too paternal in taking care of Harry, but Harry can’t deny that he loves it. They’ve once been at different ends of a political spectrum that in Harry’s view had a very clear morally right versus morally wrong connotation and they haven’t talked too much about those differences. But Harry wants Lucius, no matter the fallout in the press, no matter the fallout with his friends.

 

\--

 

 _Potter_ , Lucius writes some eight months after Leo, and Harry takes a moment to admire the effortless grace of his lettering, _you made me use my last sheet of my Malfoy insignia paper to let you know that you didn’t have any weight to lose to begin with, so please, for the love of all the food I poured into you when you were staying with me, go get a dinner somewhere._

 

Harry ponders it, knows of course that Lucius is referring to the blasted pictures of Harry in the Prophet just last week and even Harry can admit that he really doesn’t look very well in them.

 

There is a part of Harry that wants and wants and wants but he hesitates over it. They have closed the door before that Harry now wants to rip wide open again. They have agreed it’s for the best; yet, they have agreed it’s for the best because of the baby and the baby isn’t – here.

 

It’s not here.

 

The white-hot pain of realizing that the baby is not here isn’t as bad as the last times; Harry remembers Lucius whispering _it will get better_ at the hospital and not believing it then. But eight months have passed, and Harry is 30 and he’s not a Dad and he is still so lonely he can taste it, sometimes, at night, when he lies in bed and can’t sleep and wishes for someone to be there for him so much it hurts.

 

Most of the time Harry doesn’t even notice how lonely he is; except for sometimes when he wishes for someone and then, more often, when he is out with friends, when he is surrounded by Hermione and Ron and Dean and Seamus and George and Luna and Bill and Ginny. They all have lives to get back to after work and they are all happy in a way Harry just can’t be.

 

Ever since moving back into his flat after he came home from the hospital, Harry has wished for Lucius, has hoped to go back and try this properly. It’s been eight months and yet he is still terrified of writing _why don’t you invite me to feed me then_. It’s not very Gryffindor. Maybe it’s Ravenclaw, trying to protect what’s left of his heart after the war and Draco and the baby and the Dursleys but still. Harry doesn’t want to be smart about his heart; Harry wants to be allowed to do what his heart desires.

 

In the end, he writes it so fast it’s barely eligible, wraps the paper up and sets the owl off again without thinking about it. His heart pounds like a race horse in his chest; he feels silly being so affected about it, but he can’t help it.

 

Lucius writes back later in the evening, just when Harry wants to give up and get ready for bed. The paper is indeed no Malfoy insignia paper, though Harry doubts that Lucius has really run out of it.

 

 _You are welcome any time_ , Lucius writes and Harry sleeps through the night.

 

\--

 

 

 

Lucius smiling that little smile that only warms his eyes but doesn’t lift his lips when Harry shows up at the Manor the next day. Harry told himself not to be too desperately needy for this, but his brain kept saying _any time, any time, any time_ , and here he is, just a day after receiving Lucius’ letter.

 

Lucius takes his cloak. He rests a hand on the small of Harry’s back while taking him to the kitchen and he pours them both a generous amount of Whiskey before settling down opposite Harry. Behind him, pots and pans are cluttering and boiling and the kitchen smells so delicious that Harry’s mouth waters.

 

When he thinks of it, he is not actually conscious of when and what he has eaten last.

 

Lucius asks about broom-making and Harry’s peers and Harry answers and the conversation flows easily but Harry is thrumming with nervous energy. He is dibbling around and is sure that Lucius notices it just like he usually notices everything, but Harry cannot get his hands to still or keep his leg from bouncing around.

 

Lucius turns his attention on his pots and pans, tells Harry that the soup needs a few more minutes and then sits down next to him, one hand gently stroking down the curve of Harry’s back.

 

“What’s going on, Harry?” he says, softly.

 

Harry kisses him.

 

Lucius kisses him back, softly, gently, but he draws back when Harry tries to deepen the kiss, leaning their heads together instead. His breathing is unsteady; Harry’s is ragged.

 

“Please,” Harry says, “please.”

 

“My objections from the last time are still as valid,” Lucius says softly but he doesn’t draw back. Instead he reaches up and cups Harry’s cheek, slips his fingers into Harry’s hair behind Harry’s ear.

 

Harry shakes his head against him, swallowing, swallowing again. He tries to say something, tries again. He can feel the words just at the tip of his tongue; too honest, too raw but no others are coming up.

 

“I’m so lonely,” he says, and Lucius grips him harder, pushes Harry’s head down to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, his other arm coming up to wrap around Harry.

 

“Harry,” he whispers.

 

“You feel like home,” Harry says and then can’t go on. He doesn’t have the words to explain to anyone what home means for him, what it means for him to be sitting here, in this warm kitchen with someone willing to focus fully just on him, willing to feed him, to take him in.

 

Lucius takes a deep breath and then pushes Harry until they face each other, hands still cupping Harry’s face.

 

“I’m 26 years older than you,” Lucius says so very softly, “I have so many issues I couldn’t count them if I tried. You can never be seen with me in public; it would risk both of our lives. I know you would be disappointed in some of the things I still believe in. You slept with my son. I tried to kill you when you were 15. You are much too young and good and full of promise to be mine. I –“

 

“Please,” Harry says, and his voice sounds wet with a big crack right in the middle and Harry’s eyes are burning and his whole body is trembling and –

 

“Harry, mon petit,” Lucius says and Harry surges forward desperately, kissing him as good as he can. Maybe, if he makes this good enough, Lucius will want him anyway. Maybe, if he tries hard enough, uses his connections, his name, Lucius will want him anyway and maybe –

 

“God, Harry, no,” Lucius says, “stop thinking these things. I want you – I want you just for you. I don’t care what you can do and what you can’t do, Merlin. I like you just for who you are. Nothing else.”

 

“Don’t use legilimency on me,” Harry cracks out and Lucius sighs and kisses him so very carefully, just a soft press of lips against lips.

 

“You practically pushed these thoughts on me,” he complains, “and I still cannot believe Severus didn’t manage to teach you how to occlude. What –“

 

“Please,” Harry says again. He can’t talk about this now; he can’t live like this, not knowing what happens next. He needs to know.

 

“Harry,” Lucius says and draws back to look at him again. He hesitates and Harry tethers at the edge, barely daring to breathe.

 

“Can you take a moment and really think on what your friends would say if they found out you were dating me?” Lucius says, and his voice is so gentle, and Harry shakes his head no, because he doesn’t want to.  

 

Lucius sighs and let’s go of him. He pours them both another whiskey and gets up to finish the food, floating it over to where Harry is sitting.

 

Harry doesn’t move at all. He probably couldn’t if he tried.

 

“Ron told me to ask you out two months ago,” Harry says when Lucius picks up his spoon.

 

Lucius smiles at that, but it’s sad.

 

“Ron is just one of your friends,” Lucius says, “eat your food, Harry.”

 

Harry doesn’t. He gets up instead, walks out of the kitchen and towards the only connected floo in the salon. If he doesn’t think about anything he can make it there; then he can make it home. He can shatter apart once he is home, he just has to -

 

Lucius’ hands are warm when they settle over Harry’s shoulders a moment later. Harry has no idea how long he has stood in front of the fire; Harry has no idea of anything.

 

Lucius turns him around slowly, studying him and then he draws him in. He is so much taller and broader than Harry that his hugs should feel restricting, but all Harry feels is safe and protected.

 

For a long time, neither of them says a word.

 

“Please,” Harry whispers.

 

Lucius sighs, deeply and then he kisses Harry and for the first time it’s completely unapologetic. It’s deep and searing and then turns to frantic and Harry comes in his pants like a fucking teenager, comes just from Lucius sliding his hand through his hair.

 

Afterwards, Lucius takes Harry back to the kitchen and feeds him like a child. “Eat your food, Harry,” he says when Harry feels embarrassed and tries to turn away from him and Harry obeys.

 

\--

 

He wakes up alone in Lucius’ bed. Lucius had taken him upstairs last night without hesitation, undressed him carefully and put him into pyjamas of his own he shrinked down to accommodate Harry’s smaller size, before spooning him to sleep.

 

It should probably have felt weird, but it didn’t at all.

 

Harry’s heart flutters nonetheless when he makes his way downstairs.

 

Lucius looks up from the paper he is reading at the kitchen table when Harry enters and smiles, a real, true smile and Harry is in his lap so fast he isn’t 100 percent sure he didn’t apparate a little.

 

They don’t say a word, just hold each other, for a long, long time.

 

\--

 

It’s easy being with Lucius, just like it was easy living with Lucius while Harry was pregnant. Harry can’t explain how it’s possible; how things can fall in place so neatly between the two of them when their shared history should make it so impossible.

 

Harry still has nightmares, but not the gut-wrenching, shaking ones that used to tear his whole heart apart.

 

“You can tell me anything you want,” Lucius says one night just before they fall asleep and Harry snuggles back at him.

 

\--

Lucius asks him to move back in six months later. Harry has been living at his place anyway, only flooing to his own flat in the mornings on his way to work, but Lucius cooks them a nice dinner and asks very officially and Harry is sort of swooning and madly, deeply in love.

 

Yet, when they get Harry’s stuff out of his flat, Lucius is weirdly still in a way that unsettles Harry.

 

“You don’t have a lot,” Lucius says when he shrinks the second cardboard box of the two that Harry managed to pack.

 

“Didn’t feel like buying much,” Harry says and it’s true; he only ever came to this place to sleep and sometimes eat, preferred to spend much of his free time at other places or simply wandering around.

 

In the cab back to Wiltshire, Lucius takes Harry’s hand, gently rubbing over his knuckles.

 

“How long did you live there?” Lucius asks and raises Harry’s hand up to press a few kisses against the tips of Harry’s fingers.

 

“Moved in after the battle,” Harry says back quietly. He driver is listening to some rap out of his shitty car radio, but Harry likes to be careful anyway.

 

“That’s a long time,” Lucius says softly and tips Harry’s fingers against his mouth in thought. Harry loves when he does that; using Harry’s body as an extension of his own and Harry shifts around a little, trying to disperse that gooey feeling of warmth in his chest whenever Lucius touches him like this.

 

“What happened to the House of Black?” Lucius asks him.

 

“Too many memories,” Harry says and hopes that Lucius won’t pry.

 

“Of what?” Lucius says and he’s looking at Harry now, with that intense gaze Harry used to mistake for contempt and knows now is deep concentration.  

 

Harry isn’t sure how to answer the question. If felt like family and home at the time, but nowadays, sometimes, when Harry thinks of Sirius he remembers him saying “you’re aren’t like your father after all” and then it’s all he can think about.

 

“It’s hard to explain,” Harry says.

 

Lucius keeps looking at him.

 

“Sirius, mostly,” Harry says, “the possibilities of living there with him, possibly and then not getting to do that.”

 

“You’ve never told me about your Muggle relatives,” Lucius says. Harry blinks at him, unsure of why he mentions that now. His hand has started to sweat, and he tries to tug it away, but Lucius keeps holding it.

 

“Harry,” he says softly.

 

“What are you asking?” Harry says.

 

“Nothing,” Lucius tells him, rubbing his finger once more over Harry’s knuckles. “I am merely trying to figure out why you haven’t had a home in 30 years.”

 

It hits deep so hard that Harry has to look away to hide the tears springing to his eyes. The landscape outside the cab window is bleak and grey; Harry tries to breathe in and finds it hard.

 

“Maybe I didn’t deserve one,” Harry says. He wants it to sound glib, unconcerned to make fun of Lucius, but he doesn’t manage it; instead it sounds raw and honest and scraped out of his throat.

 

Lucius freezes with Harry’s hand against his mouth and then asks the driver to make a stop as soon as possible. He shakes his head at Harry when Harry tries to speak.

 

Once they park at a rest stop, Lucius gets out of the car and drags Harry out, too. They take a few steps; the sound of the traffic close-by is deafeningly loud.

 

Lucius’ hands slip into Harry’s hair and he leans their heads together once more. It has become a shortcut for all the difficult, all the hard things between them; it conveys understanding and acceptance and love far better than any words.

 

“You did deserve one,” Lucius tells Harry very quietly, “you do deserve one. You have one now, Harry, for however long you want it.”

 

Harry breaths against him for a long time and ignores the little kisses on his cheeks catching the soundless tears of gratitude he cries.

 

\--

He tells Lucius some of it, mostly of the war. Talking about the Dursleys is somehow harder. Surprisingly he finds talking of Dumbledore and his conflicted feelings for the man easiest.

 

Lucius tells Harry some of it, mostly of his father and Draco and then, reluctantly of the war, too.

 

Most of the time it’s unprompted but sometimes they trigger each other or are triggered by things happening around them, and Lucius insists on talking things out then every time.

 

“You can’t let these feelings fester for so long,” he says, “they’ll poison you. The silence gets more and more oppressive until you only know one way out.”

 

Harry knows he’s remembering a sunny morning when his child came to him and held a perfectly normal conversation for over an hour before going and hanging himself off an apple tree. That night Harry holds Lucius as close as he can.

 

\--

 

Not everyone is as understanding that Harry is dating one of Voldemort’s foremost Death Eaters as Ron and Hermione.

 

He has a nasty fight with George and Ginny and Molly and later with Dean. Kingsley is concerned.

 

Andromeda is the worst of them, saying that she’s disappointed in Harry with such a sad voice that it hurts somewhere deep in Harry’s chest.

 

Harry knows he can’t make everyone understand. None of his friends other than Ron and Hermione have witnessed how Lucius has held him, has rocked him, has soothed him, has made sure that Harry didn’t fall apart before he was finally able to really consider his mental health.

 

Harry can’t explain it himself; the Lucius after seven years of Azkaban doesn’t care about the Malfoy line, doesn’t care about being poor and without influence.

 

Sometimes Harry sees glimpses of what he considers the old Lucius in his Lucius; he knows they are the same person. Lucius has made a derisive remark on something in the papers more than once and they have disagreed but discussed their differing views like civil people.

 

Lucius Malfoy always appeared to be fully in control when Harry met him during his Hogwarts years; it takes Lucius Malfoy being all alone in the world and opening up about his childhood for Harry to recognize just how much he used to be a man stretched far beyond his limits.

 

It could just as easily have been Lucius hanging on that apple tree and Harry is thankful every day it wasn’t.

\--

 

They discuss Draco one day almost by accident. Harry made an offhand comment of something that happened at Hogwarts between Draco and him and Lucius didn’t let it go, looked up instead and asked how they had met again after the war.

 

They went to the same pub one night after work and happened to be the only two gay guys in a room full of men and one thing led to another.

 

“He told me lies,” Lucius admits and there’s a heaviness in his voice that Harry would like to kiss better if he only knew how, “about his social life, less so his work life. He claimed he was doing well, dating a gorgeous woman, having friends and I think I wanted to believe it so badly I just believed it even though I knew it couldn’t be possibly true.”

 

“I knew that he was lonely,” Harry admits after a moment.

 

“Harry, do you –“ Lucius starts and breaks off, rubbing a hand harshly over his face.

 

“It’s okay,” Harry says, and it is; there is nothing that Lucius can ask him that Harry can be angry about when it’s so obvious how much Lucius is hurting over Draco.

 

“Do you still love him?” Lucius asks, and Harry couldn’t tell which answer he would like to hear if his life depended on it. Lucius’ voice is completely bland.

 

“I didn’t exactly love him,” Harry says, careful now.

 

Lucius huffs out a laugh at that, and then another and then he is biting himself off, clearly at a point where he’s about to cry.

 

“We had sex a few times, not even that regularly at all,” Harry says, “I knew I could trust him not to go to the Prophet. He wasn’t exactly out himself.”

 

“He wasn’t gay,” Lucius says, almost absentmindedly, “he was bi at best. He probably shared the feeling that – he could trust you not to hurt him where he thought to be most vulnerable.”

 

“Hm,” Harry says, not so sure about Draco’s sexual orientation as Lucius appears to be.

 

“I didn’t love him,” Harry repeats when Lucius seems lost in thought, “but I don’t really do casual sex and I was getting attached. He never allowed me to stay over much or to, you know, cuddle and talk about our days, but I hoped, that he would with time.”

 

“Merde,” Lucius says and loses the fight against his tears. Harry reaches out a hand and rests it, very carefully, on his back.

 

“I wanted so much for him,” Lucius says, and he sounds awful, voice choked and breathy from trying not to cry, “and I fucked him up so completely. Narcissa was – she was – she never hugged him, and I gave him all the affection I could give, but it wasn’t enough. He was such a sensitive child, Harry, he – I shouldn’t have send him away to school when he was 11, he simply wasn’t ready at all and then –“

 

“Hey, just breathe,” Harry interrupts, but Lucius shakes his head.

 

“I need to tell this to someone who knew him,” Lucius says, begs, and Harry whispers his sorry, tells him to go on while scooting closer.

 

“I wasn’t there when he forced the Dark Mark on him,” Lucius continues, and Harry realizes all at once that he never thought of that at all, “he spent a horrible summer here and no one protected him and he – he used him like he had used me against my father. He was all alone and he was so lonely and so terrified and when I got to see him again almost a year later, he wasn’t my child any longer, he was someone else and I was terrified for him. I couldn’t take away the Mark; I couldn’t protect him from Bella or his mother or – him and he never forgave me for it.”

 

“Lucius,” Harry says, just to say something.

 

“He still loved me,” Lucius says, “that’s the worst part of it. He never asked me again for help after that year, he never came for my advice again. We stopped touching; he would only touch his mother after the trials and when she died the next year, he stopped coming to visit me for years. He paid for my therapy and he would send me letters, but he wouldn’t be willing to talk to me. He still loved me, and he wanted to be my little boy again and he didn’t let himself and I didn’t see it and I didn’t help him.”

 

“Shh,” Harry whispers and hugs him closer. Lucius’ sobs shake them both now; Harry feels overwhelmed by their combined sorrow.

 

“I ruined his life, Harry,” Lucius gasps, “he was all alone. He was just a little kid. I wasn’t there when he needed me.”

 

“I am so sorry,” Harry whispers and they sit like this for a very long time.

 

Once Lucius stops crying, he rubs a hand over his eyes roughly.

 

“It’s easier for me knowing that you didn’t have deep feelings for him,” he says after a moment, voice composed now. “It makes – us feel a little less indecent, I suppose.”

 

“I hardly ever think of you as Draco’s father,” Harry admits, because it’s true; Lucius is foremost Lucius to him – his Lucius, his partner. All the other labels follow only much later.

 

“But for him,” Lucius says with effort, “I would have wished him someone who loved him so badly.”

 

“Me too,” Harry admits. It’s true; and Harry regrets not being that person. With a little effort, he might have been, even though it feels weird thinking this while sharing Lucius’ life.

 

“Thank you,” Lucius says in Harry’s ear that night while spooning him to sleep, “for allowing me to tell it to you.”

 

“I don’t want to be able to never mention him,” Harry says softly, “I don’t want to forget him.”

 

“Thank you for that, too,” Lucius whispers and hugs him closer.  

 

\--

 

Molly extended the invitation for Sunday roast to both Harry and Lucius and Harry was eager to take it after months of the Weasleys getting used to the idea of Lucius being a permanent fixture in Harry’s life.

 

It’s been going well; Lucius doesn’t dress to impress and shocks everyone, Harry included, with his vast knowledge of Muggle communication devices which are Arthur’s newest obsession.

 

Victoire looks completely innocent when she asks Harry to come upstairs with her for a moment and Harry presses a soft kiss against Lucius’ cheek before following her.

 

George doesn’t look quite as innocent, but Harry doesn’t understand what they were up to until they shove him in the broom cupboard, giggling hysterically, before running down the stairs again.

 

When the door closes behind him, Harry doesn’t think it’s such a big problem.

 

Fifteen minutes later he is drenched in sweat, breath coming in short pained gasps.

 

“Please,” Harry says to no one in particular.

 

He hears the chatter of the Weasley clan from downstairs; if he could just manage to gather his voice to actually scream for help, he knows he would be heard.

 

The problem is, Harry can’t.

 

Harry has his wand. He could easily unlock the door, but Harry has been having a full-blown panic attack from the moment they cut off the light from him and he can’t move at all; he is safe where he is, but if he moves, he might –

 

He might –

 

“Harry?” Ron calls and Harry whimpers with it.

 

“Ron,” he whispers; it barely comes out.

 

“Help me,” he whispers again and then Ron is in front of the cupboard and then the door is open and then Harry draws in a big, whimpering, heaving breath.

 

Ron reaches out to him and Harry shrinks back into the cupboard, flinches away from his hand. Ron’s face does a complicated thing; he looks pained.

 

“Harry,” he says, and Harry shakes his head, makes himself small, smaller.

 

“Lucius,” Ron calls, louder, down the stairs and crouches down in front of Harry, smiling reassuringly at him.

 

“You’re going to be just fine, Harry,” he says, and Harry wants to believe him, but – but -

 

Lucius comes up the stairs a moment later, but all Harry hears is his steps, steps drawing closer to the cupboard, steps drawing closer to – to

 

Harry doesn’t know where he is, he doesn’t -

 

“Please,” Harry begs, “please, Aunt Petunia, please, I will clean the kitchen and the floor and the bathroom, I will eat nothing, I will do nothing, I will –“

 

“No, no, no, Harry,” Lucius says, urgently. Harry is tugged back up and out of the cupboard by strong hands reaching for him and then he is hugged, pressed against soft material that feels like nothing Aunt Petunia would wear, but -

 

“Please,” he says again. Lucius’ face and Aunt Petunia’s face flicker before his eyes; he’s hot, then cold, then hot again.

 

“You’re with me,” Lucius says, “they are not here, Harry. I’ll protect you. They can’t hurt you now; you’re with me.”

 

Harry draws in a shuddering breath; he smells Lucius’ cologne and it calms him enough to slump against Lucius’ chest.

 

“There you go,” Lucius tells him, carefully rocking him, “there you go, mon petit. You’re just fine; I got you.”

 

Harry thinks there are people behind Lucius’ shoulder, other people coming up the stairs now, but he burrows his head against Lucius’ neck, feels Lucius’ draw his robe around Harry to hide him from view. It doesn’t feel constricting or threatening like the cupboard did; it feels safe and secure.

 

Harry drifts a little after that.

 

He thinks Lucius carries him back downstairs; he thinks Hermione urges him to drink a calming draught. He thinks Ron strokes his back for a long while and he thinks Lucius tells off Molly and Ginny when they try to touch him. He thinks Molly is crying in the kitchen and that Victoire is crying too, but he isn’t too sure.

 

Lucius’ stands up after some time and Harry struggles up after him, panicking again. Lucius calms him with kisses to his palms and then Harry’s cloak is wrapped around him and then Lucius’ holds him while they use the floo.

 

Harry wakes shuddering that night, claws himself out of a nightmare of being in a cupboard with no one around for miles to help him, to hold him.

 

He’s begging before he knows it, sobbing out _please_ after _please_ after please. Lucius tugs him into his lap, rocking him again, whispering to him. They go down to the kitchen when Harry feels as if he can breathe again, where Lucius makes him a hot chocolate and then he brings them up to run a bath for Harry, towelling him dry once Harry’s fingers wrinkle up.

 

“Can I ask a few questions?” Lucius says when they are back in bed, both laying on their sides and facing each other, their linked hands resting between them.

 

Harry shrugs, knowing that saying no will only get Lucius to be even more concerned.

 

“You’ll answer them truthfully?” Lucius says. It’s posing as a question, but Harry knows it’s a statement.

 

“I’ll try,” he says. His voice sounds raw.

 

“Why are you scared of small places?” Lucius asks.

 

This one is relatively easy, Harry thinks.

 

“I spent the first few years of my life in a cupboard,” he says and watches Lucius’ impassive face. How not to betray anything you think or feel; Harry would probably pay money to be as good at this as Lucius.

 

“Why?” Lucius says.

 

“I don’t know,” Harry whispers. Lucius simply looks at him, raises an eyebrow and Harry sighs.

 

“I truly don’t,” he continues, “I have some ideas, though. My uncle and aunt hated magic; they liked to call me a freak and they tried a lot to get rid of my freakishness. They didn’t want me to be a part of their family, so they put me in there. I think it was easier for them to pretend I wasn’t there at all if they could put me in a cupboard and not see me or any of my things.”

 

“Did you have things?” Lucius asks and Harry’s belly kind of swoops away from him.

 

“Not really,” he says, “I had a sleeping bag and a towel, and a tooth brush and I once found a tiny toy soldier on the sidewalk and took it home. I always asked to take home the art work we did at school and hung it up in my cupboard. I had my school books and I wore whatever was too small from my cousin. I had a specific plate I had to eat from and a specific fork and knife and spoon, because my uncle was afraid I would give them my freak magic.”

 

“Hm,” Lucius says and scoots closer to wrap himself around Harry. Harry puts his head on Lucius’ chest; Lucius puts one hand in his hair to scratch his scalp.

 

“What happened when you did accidental magic?” he says, and Harry squeezes his eyes shut.

 

“They would punish me,” he says and hates how small his voice sounds.

 

“How?” Lucius asks, and Harry tries; he really does but not words come out until Lucius wraps one long leg over Harry’s, holding him secure with his whole body.

 

“My uncle would smack me,” Harry says, “and they would put me in my cupboard and only allow me out to prepare their food or do the dishes or vacuum the house and then they wouldn’t give me food until I stopped asking for it. I had to stay in the cupboard and I wasn’t allowed to go to school and I would listen to them talk and nobody would mention me at all until I wasn’t sure – I wasn’t sure I was even there.”

 

Harry can’t go on, presses his face harder against Lucius’ chest. The pity will come now, and tomorrow Lucius will look at him differently and Harry will have fucked up the one thing he couldn’t afford to fuck up. He had always suspected he was still that freak in the cupboard and not worthy of love and –

 

“When my father wanted to punish me, he would put me in the cellar of the Manor,” Lucius says and doesn’t comment on Harry’s fidgeting at all, only hugs him tighter, “and then he would conjure up things I was afraid of. The faces of me dead grandparents telling me that I was a failure; Muggles coming and getting me and hurting me; snakes biting me; having a potions accident; the kind of things you are scared of as a child. He would leave me there not knowing what was real and what was not and then he would ask me to go back up to my rooms once it was over and to dress as befit the future Lord of Malfoy and once I had done that, he would cut away every piece of clothing I had put on berating and belittling me and then he would spank me until I couldn’t sit for a week.”

 

Harry tries to get up to look at him, but Lucius’s hand in his hair keeps his head in place.

 

“He got more creative the older I got,” Lucius says, “and I was ashamed of it for so long that you are the first person I tell this to willingly.”

 

“Who did you tell unwillingly?” Harry asks.

 

“My former Lord of course,” he says, “I first told only him and then when I fell out of favour he would torture me and had me retelling my deepest secrets while everyone watched. It was a preferred method of his to shame us. My father was present at one of these sessions during our first sojourn.”

 

“And?” Harry says when Lucius doesn’t go on for a long time.

 

“And it made him so happy knowing how much he had hurt me,” Lucius says after a moment, “he was so gleeful knowing I hated and feared him. He was so enthused knowing that I couldn’t stand up to him even though I had grown up taller and stronger than him, even though my magic had become more powerful than his, even though I had learnt not to show any kind of emotion while he did these things to me.”

 

“When did it stop?” Harry asks and kind of doesn’t want to know the answer.

 

“We fell out after the Lord’s demise the first time around,” Lucius says, “we had fallen out before when he made me marry Narcissa. I didn’t care about my wife, but I held Draco in my arms after he was born and knew with a certainty I’ve never felt since that I wouldn’t subject Draco to growing up like I did. I promised myself I would never physically hurt him, promised myself to love him and protect him and keep my father away from him. He died shortly before you and Draco started Hogwarts. I made a right mess of these promises but at least Draco never feared me the way I feared my father.”

 

“He knew you loved him,” Harry says, very quietly, “he just didn’t understand some of the decisions you made. The path you took scared him; you – you didn’t.”

 

“Yes,” Lucius answers and Harry knows he’s not believing him but it’s good enough for that night.

 

“Thank you for telling me,” Lucius says just when Harry is on the verge of sleep again, “thank you for trusting me to get you out of that cupboard.”

 

“Thank you for taking care of me,” Harry says and yawns and snuggles closer.

 

They fall asleep still wrapped into each other.

 

 

\--

 

“Putain, tu es serré,” Lucius says above him the first time he’s fucking Harry and Harry has no idea what he is talking about, but he likes the sound of French tickling over his skin like this, so he doesn’t complain, even if his name sounds fucking weird whenever Fleur says it.

 

Lucius, he finds, thankfully keeps pronouncing Harry the English way.

 

“Harry, tu te siens si bien,” Lucius says, “je pourrais te baiser comme ça pour toujours.“

 

“Sure,” Harry says and moans when Lucius hits him just right.

 

“Ça te plaît?” Lucius whispers and leans forward to kiss Harry hard while his hips keep driving deeper and harder and Harry is edging closer and closer and closer –

 

“Tu vas me faire jouir,” Lucius groans above him and this meaning Harry can guess.

 

\--

 

Their fucking is the best Harry’s ever had; not that he has had much but Lucius makes him feel so good, all the time, no matter if it’s handjobs or blowjobs or fucking. He knows when to hold down, when to let go, when to go deeper or harder or softer and Harry’s squirming with each orgasm, muscles locking up and releasing while Lucius fucks him through it or fingers him through it when Harry bucks hard enough with his release to dislodge him or sucks him through it.

 

And what Harry loves the most is not even how Lucius makes him feel but how fucking vocal Lucius gets, how moany and breathy and groaning he gets, how he begs Harry to fuck him, or makes Harry beg him to fuck him, an endless litany of French pouring out of him, how he gives himself so completely during sex, how he lets down all guards and is never embarrassed afterwards at all. Harry loves to see this side of him; he hoards the memories of Lucius during sex like a jealous thing.

 

“Je veux ta grosse queue dans mal cul,“ Lucius says and Harry obliges all too happily, or Lucius says, “encule-moi,” or he says “prends-moi plus forte, avance-toi au fond, plus profond, plus fort, plus vite, Harry, s’il te plait, s’il te plait, s’il te plait, fais-moi jouir, s’il te plait, s’il te -”

 

\- and Harry feels as if he is losing his fucking mind, fucks him as hard and long and deep as he can and then they usually reach orgasm at the same time.

 

\--

He chooses the day deliberately. It’s just after Harry’s 31st birthday; Lucius made him a cake again and gave him a blowjob that had Harry weak-kneed for over an hour and then proceeded to spoil Harry rotten with attention and affection for the day. They went for a picnic; they took a bath when coming back and Lucius massaged Harry for what felt like hours.

 

Harry wants to show his gratitude.

 

Lucius never covers up his Dark Mark; not on purpose. He wears long sleeves most of the time because he likes them; it’s his sort of style, the long, flowy robes, the shirts and cufflinks, the suits. He’s a bit more relaxed at home but Harry doubts he will ever see him in sweats and a ratty sweater.

 

While Lucius doesn’t cover up the Mark, he isn’t comfortable with it being on display at all, doesn’t want it to get any attention. He usually extricates himself elegantly whenever Harry touched the Mark in the past; it probably took Harry the better half of the year to even notice what he was doing.

 

Now that he has, he is set on doing something about it.

 

Lucius has him on his belly on the bed. They’ve spent a lot of time on foreplay and Harry is sweaty and just a tad desperate; knows Lucius is, too. The Prophet ran a big story on Yaxley today who announced his daughter’s marriage last week; Lucius took one look at the headline, went very pale and didn’t touch his breakfast again. He’s been jumpy all day; Harry wants to make it better.

 

Harry wraps both of his hands around Lucius’ arms when Lucius’ enters him to make sure he doesn’t shift them to another position, linking their fingers. He waits as patiently as he can until he knows they are both close; then he twists and sinks his teeth into the Mark, licking the sting away a second later.

 

The kisses he leaves on Lucius’ Mark are feather soft after that.

 

“Harry,” Lucius warns; or tries to because Harry knows how close he is, how hard it must be to concentrate on Harry following the lines of the Mark with his tongue.

 

“Arrête ça,” Lucius says, “Harry, s’il te plait, je ne veux pas –“

  
He tries to shift, to lean his weight back on his knees but Harry’s grip is firm.

 

“I like every part of you,” Harry says, very clearly, and kisses the Mark again.

 

Lucius cries out at that, hips driving into Harry wildly and then they are both coming.

 

During the afterglow Harry kisses the Mark again, featherlight.

 

“It really doesn’t deserve that,” Lucius says but he shudders with every kiss and Harry keeps going.

 

\--

 

Lucius’ nightmares are different than Harry’s; he usually wakes up all at once, completely silent without any changes in his breathing at all. Harry can guess that that is a useful habit to have if you are being tortured for fun regularly; it makes Harry incredibly mad.

 

Lucius never falls back asleep after a nightmare and he doesn’t want to be soothed. If Harry is still wrapped into his arms, he will carefully pull back, press a kiss against Harry’s ear or temple or forehead and go out; either for a run or to sit in the salon or to start breakfast or to vanish within the Manor for a few hours. Harry has an idea of where he goes but apart from the rooms Lucius restored after his release the Manor feels unfriendly, full of dark magic and Harry doesn’t like to venture into it.

 

Lucius told him once that letting the house die along with the Malfoy line is the only sensible action. He seemed indifferent but Harry guesses that he feels mostly conflicted; Harry is sure that Lucius used to love the Manor before it became Voldemort’s abode. Harry is sure that Lucius used to love the Manor’s grounds until Draco hanged himself on them.

 

\--

 

“Harry,” Lucius says one night, so urgently that Harry is awake and has his wand in his hand before he fully processes what’s happening.

 

“What?” he says but he wouldn’t have needed to bother; there is noise, cruel laughter and shouts of hexes and curses.

 

“How did they pass your wards?” Harry says and moves to the side of the window to look out of it.

 

“It’s not – it’s –“ Lucius says and shudders and turns away from Harry.

 

Harry listens more closely, watches Lucius. The penny drops a moment later.

 

“You conjured a memory charm in your sleep,” he says and Lucius nods, not looking at him.

 

“Okay,” Harry says, feeling so very sorry for Lucius and knowing that the last thing he will want is pity, “I’ll take care of it. Just – stay where you are?”

 

Lucius doesn’t argue; Harry’s pity takes a sharp turn to genuine worry.

 

The charms are easy enough to deal with, but it takes Harry the better part of an hour to find them all. He banishes them quickly whenever he finds a memory, unwilling to pry in things Lucius didn’t want him to see in the first place.

 

Lucius isn’t in their bedroom once he is done.

 

Harry finally finds him folded into the smallest corner of the kitchen.

 

It’s another difference between them; where Harry needs wide, open spaces, Lucius needs tight, small ones.

 

Lucius’ legs and hands are shaking badly. He isn’t crying, but he’s not very reactive to Harry, flinches away from him when he tries to coax him out of that tiny space he’s put himself in. Harry settles down then, talking about nothing for a long time, but Lucius doesn’t calm down.

 

Harry accio’s a calming draught at one point and Lucius takes it, drinks it quickly, hand wracked with trembling.

 

“That’s nerve damage from crucio, isn’t it?” Harry asks him, once he has observed the particular pattern of Lucius’ trembling for a long time.

 

“I take a potion for it,” Lucius croaks, “it usually helps. I don’t know why it doesn’t today.”

 

“Do you have a nerve soothing balm?” Harry asks him, carefully scooting forward to trail his fingertips over his shaking hands.

 

“Yes,” Lucius says, “but I don’t want you to –“

 

“I want to,” Harry says immediately, “I want to help you. Let me?”

 

Lucius is silent, throat working. Harry can tell that he’s exhausted; Harry himself didn’t sustain permanent injury from the war, but he knows people who did, knows how very hard especially crucio damage is on the body. It’s a little less of a mystery now why Lucius insists on eating healthily, getting a workout in, not drinking too much alcohol.

 

He must be in pain pretty much every day.

 

Harry _hates_ it.

 

“Okay,” Lucius says in a very small voice and Harry gets up, helps him get to his feet, makes him sit down at the kitchen table while he goes and gets the balm out of Lucius’ cabinet.

 

Lucius can pick Harry up and carry him around, but Harry cannot do the same for him and it stings. Harry doesn’t exactly mind being scrawny and short, knows it’s an aftereffect from his childhood and there is simply nothing to be done about it, but right now, he hates it, hates that even if he uses a featherlight charm on Lucius, their differences in height will make it impossible for Harry to carry him gracefully.

 

He has an inkling that Lucius can’t take it right now if Harry isn’t absolutely sure about everything he does, will balk and lock himself up and try to deal with it himself if Harry shows any kind of hesitation, will interpret himself as an impossible imposition on Harry.

 

It’s why Harry floats a mattress down to the kitchen, makes Lucius lay down on it before banishing his clothes.

 

“It’s warm here and comfy and you love that kitchen and so do I,” Harry says when Lucius complains as Harry is settling down on his lower body. It shuts Lucius up.

 

Harry starts with Lucius’ arms, works the balm down from shoulder to hands. He’s obviously not trained in healing whatsoever, but he knows how to use soothing balm, has seen Hermione do it often enough for Luna, sometimes for Ron, sometimes even for him.

 

His touch is firm; Lucius closes his eyes when Harry massages his hands for a long time.

 

Harry goes on from there, does Lucius’ chest next, takes the opportunity and time to simply feel him. Lucius is fitter than him, and it’s a joy to touch his body, his firm chest and belly, the light dust of golden hair all over his skin.

 

Harry works on his long, lean legs for a very long time, does his feet, digs deep into his cramping arches. Lucius is already much calmer when he asks him to turn around and settle on his belly; his neck is tight, and Harry works out more than one kink he feels.

 

He’s at Lucius’ lower back when Lucius apologizes for the memory charm.

 

“Don’t,” Harry says, “I doubt you could help it.”

 

“I’m embarrassed,” Lucius admits after a moment, “a slip in magic like this for someone my age and my abilities is – Harry, I am truly sorry for –“

 

“Shh,” Harry says, “don’t lock up all those muscles again, please.”

 

Lucius is silent for a long time.

 

“My father used to wake me up with that charm,” he says, “I would wake up and be surrounded by things I wanted to forget, that scared me, and he would study them and laugh when he saw himself. It’s how he found out about my first kiss with another boy, too. My hip injury comes from his reaction.”

 

“Your father is a big fat asshole,” Harry says, so angry he can barely see straight. The Dursleys were abusive too, but god, this is a whole other level.

 

Lucius laughs at that, just a tiny sound of mirth.

 

“I won’t argue that,” he says and adds a lot smaller, “it’s his birthday today.”

 

 _I love you_ , Harry thinks fiercely. He wanted to say it for a long time, but he knows right now isn’t the moment.

 

“I think we should celebrate by doing a lot of these gay things he hated,” Harry muses and Lucius laughs outright at that.

 

The sex that day is freaking fantastic.

 

\--

 

It’s Lucius birthday in a week and Harry is having a little freak-out about what to do for him.

 

It already took him ages to needle out the exact date of Lucius’ birth and Lucius has been so tightlipped on how he used to celebrate that Harry is guessing it wasn’t exactly enjoyable.

 

But Harry’s in love; Harry knows that Lucius had a hard few weeks, the aftermath of the memories he conjured unwillingly haunting him. His body has been acting up and Harry felt it like a punch to the gut when he came home from work to find Lucius with a magically charmed hot water bottle underneath a blanket on the couch, clearly miserable.

 

Harry wants to do something special.

 

He’s having a little rant about it to Ron and Hermione one evening, trying to dodge Rose’s sticky fingers intent on smearing jam all over his face.

 

“Mate, maybe he doesn’t want special, maybe he just wants normal,” Ron says at one point and Harry dwells on that long after he’s back home, wrapped securely in Lucius’ arms who is soundly asleep behind him.

 

And so Harry doesn’t do anything special when Lucius’ birthday rolls around, because really – it makes perfect sense.

 

From the moment Lucius was born, he was expected to be special, fit to carry the weight of countless generations of Malfoys on his shoulder.

 

Harry found a picture of Lucius a while back when he was bored one afternoon and did have a look at some of the rest of the Manor after all. Lucius must have been four or five, dressed to the gills and looking so tiny and unhappy and blonde, with his father’s big presence looming behind him. He thinks of that small child the night before Lucius turns 56 and doesn’t want to do anything at all that he knows Lucius will not enjoy.

 

He gets up early of course and wakes up Lucius with a cup of coffee in bed and feels his heart drop about twenty stories low from how very pleased Lucius is by that tiny thing already. They make out afterwards, for ages, until they are both panting hard and Lucius is running a litany of French over Harry’s skin.

 

Harry fucks him very slow that morning and Lucius goes crazy with it.

 

Lucius is usually on top even if he’s bottoming, but today Harry makes sure not to give in and give it to him harder, makes sure to keep the pace slow, makes sure to kiss Lucius’ back and neck and shoulders while he rolls his hips gently, carefully, until Lucius stops edging him on, stops rutting up his hips to get more friction.

 

Instead he yields beautifully underneath Harry, body going boneless, spreads his legs wider to allow Harry better access and only then does Harry pick up the pace until Lucius is a moaning, sweating mess, legs spread so wide Harry is sure they can’t go any further, choking with every push of Harry’s cock against his prostate. When he comes, he shakes like a wild thing underneath Harry, whimpering and clenching around Harry’s dick, milking Harry’s own orgasm from him.

 

When he turns Lucius around, there are tears lining his lashes and Harry kisses him deeply, letting his lips slide all over his face.

 

He does a fruit bowl after sex for breakfast and they have that in the kitchen while Lucius reads the paper and while Harry listens to the news on the radio he insisted on buying. They lounge in the salon for a while after until Harry needs to get to work and when he comes home later that afternoon it’s with takeout curry and Ron and Hermione.

 

Lucius, he can tell, is deeply touched by them being here.

 

He and Hermione end up discussing something law-related pretty much immediately while Harry and Ron devour must of the food and play a game of exploding snap. Harry gets the hard liquor out at one point along with the chess set and Hermione finds more and more ridiculous reasons to do shots until they are all plastered.

 

Lucius and Harry leave Ron and Hermione necking like teenagers on the couch shortly before midnight and Harry gives him the one present he could think of – a letter.

 

Lucius reads it and then he folds Harry into his arms, holding him tightly, saying _thank you_ in a choked voice.

 

They both don’t say it, but Harry knows they are both feeling it.

 

\--

 

“A hor _crux_ ,” Harry hears Lucius say just before going into the kitchen the next morning.

 

Oh, Harry thinks.

 

Lucius looks up sharply from where he is sitting with Ron and Hermione, a full English breakfast laid out before them. He opens his arms immediately upon seeing Harry, beckoning him closer, tugs him on his lap once he can reach him.

 

“Sorry, mate,” Ron says around a mouthful of hash browns, “thought it was common knowledge by now what Voldemort did with horcruxes.”

 

Lucius pushes away Harry’s hair to peer at his scar and Harry wiggles around to grab a sausage from his plate.

 

“That’s horrifying,” Lucius says, “that’s absolutely vile. Harry, I am so sorry.”

 

“Aw, don’t be, he is alright,” Ron says.

 

Hermione tells him to shut up from where she is resting her head on the table. At least Harry is not the only one with a hangover the size of the Manor.

 

“Do you need a coffee?” Lucius says, eyes anxious on Harry’s face, “or maybe some orange juice? Should I go and make you pancakes or –“

 

“I’m not a horcrux any longer,” Harry says and drops his head on Lucius’ shoulder; that sausage does not sit well in his stomach.

 

“Also, you can’t really cure horcruxes with breakfast, just saying,” Ron adds, helpfully.

 

“Let me get you a potion,” Lucius says, but Harry shakes his head.

 

“Don’t bother, Lucius,” Ron announces, “these two are too Muggle to accept potions for hangovers. Apparently, you have to suffer through them.”

 

“I don’t want you to suffer at all,” Lucius complains. Harry kisses him to shut him up and falls asleep on his shoulder ten minutes later.

 

\--

 

It’s becoming something of an institution, Ron and Hermione coming over. Once Ron discovers that Lucius’ cooks as well as Molly but does ask far less personal questions, they see so much of him that Hermione asks Lucius to reset the wards to keep Ron out.

 

Lucius doesn’t.

 

Rose usually stays at George’s and Angelina’s whenever they come over, but Hermione starts bringing Hugo and seeing Lucius with a baby does horrible, horrible things to Harry.

 

Neither of them wants kids; Harry doesn’t even want to think about being pregnant and having another stillborn baby and he knows the changes are high of that happening again with male pregnancies.

 

But Lucius is undeniably happy to take Hugo off Hermione’s and Ron’s hands when they come over and he is good at it; soothing the baby easily, entertaining him with simply and colorful magic.

 

It’s just – unfair, Harry thinks, thinking of Draco, thinking of Lucius. He wants a do-over for Lucius and knows he can’t get one, not in this and it hurts.

 

\--

 

 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Harry croaks out when he stumbles out of the floo after work. His throat is on fire; he feels shaky and faint. Snot keeps collecting in his nose and throat and he has to sniff it back up every few minutes. His headache is probably the size of London.

 

Lucius is already reaching out, but instead of hugging Harry, he presses a palm flat against Harry’s forehead, clucking his tongue softly at him.

 

“You’re burning up,” he says, “probably a cold.”

 

“I don’t get sick,” Harry says and jerks himself away from Lucius’ hand.

 

Lucius frowns at him.

 

“But you are,” he says, very gently, and Harry shakes his head at him.

 

“I don’t get sick,” he repeats again, in a smaller voice, remembering very distantly feeling so hot and helpless and begging to be led out of the cupboard and nobody ever came.

 

“Okay Harry,” Lucius says, opening his arms offering Harry comfort and Harry goes to him, slumps against him.

 

He tells him about the memory he just remembered, and Lucius holds him closer.

 

Harry gets orange juice and tea with honey and warm porridge with berries and a lot of cuddle time in the coming days and it’s okay; this time there’s someone there.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for this series - hope you enjoyed reading it :)

Lucius is appalled when he finds out that Harry has never been on holiday.

 

“I’ve been to Devonshire once,” Harry muses with Lucius’ cum drying on his belly one lazy Sunday afternoon, “I think I was six. I made friends with a little boy with Down syndrome at the beach and when they said goodbye his mom hugged me, and I was completely weirded out because I had no idea hugs could feel so nice.”

 

“Congratulations on getting that out without a panic attack,” Lucius grumbles next to him and Harry grins. Their refractory period is a little different; when Harry pointed it out for the first time, Lucius pouted so hard they didn’t have sex for a week after.

 

“Congrats on saying that in English not French,” Harry says. It’s part of his very obvious strategy to get Lucius to explain why he is only speaking French in bed but not in their everyday life even though Harry knows by now that Lucius has grown up bilingual and prefers French over English.

 

“Ferme ta gueule,” Lucius says, smug.

 

“That sounded vulgar,” Harry muses and turns over to kiss Lucius.

 

“It was,” Lucius says against Harry’s lips, “I apologize. Do you want to go on holiday with me?”

 

“Sure,” Harry says, “except you can’t apparate and I hate going anywhere in the magical world. Maybe I should get plastic surgery after all for my scar.”

 

“I am once again so tempted to force you to sit through my ‘explaining to Harry how magic works’ curriculum,” Lucius mutters, “for you to even think you could have surgery the Muggle way.”

 

Harry laughs and hits him in the face with a pillow.

 

“I was thinking Paris,” Lucius says, and he still sounds just as rested and lazy as he had a moment ago, but Harry can tell that what he is saying is anything but easy, “we can fly there, if you have a Muggle identification card or possibly take a train or I’ll drive us.”

 

“You can drive a car?” Harry says, “you have a Muggle ID?”

 

“I wouldn’t offer if I wouldn’t have these things or could do them,” Lucius says softly.

 

“Where would we stay?” Harry says because he can tell that they are somehow on uneven ground even though he doesn’t know why.

 

Lucius is silent for a long moment and then does very resolutely not look at Harry.

 

“You know that my fortune was sacked after the war as well as my properties,” Lucius says after a moment.

 

“Yeah,” Harry says.

 

“What was redistributed in the wizarding world amounted to a very significant amount of my overall wealth,” Lucius says and looks at Harry and Harry runs that sentence through his mind again and –

 

“The Malfoys did have Muggle investments,” he breathes and isn’t quite sure why he sounds so vindicated.

 

Lucius rolls his eyes at him at his tone.

 

“I do,” he says, “and I made sure that that wealth has grown again in recent years. It doesn’t amount to the amount I have lost, and I can’t convert it to galleons but I can convert it to bezants and I can of course use it in the Muggle world.”

 

“Bezants?” Harry asks and Lucius mutters _Harry’s what is magic curriculum_ under his breath.

 

“French wizarding money,” he says and then sits up to roll on his side and look at Harry.

 

“You realize that me not coming forth and admitting to the Muggle money and property I just told you about was a direct violation of my sentence?” he asks. Harry wouldn’t say he is nervous, because Lucius Malfoy is simply too self-assured for that, but underneath Lucius’ calm eyes a tiny fragment of fear flickers.

 

“That’s how you know so much more about the Muggle world than I thought you would,” Harry says who is having more than one epiphany at once.

 

“You realize,” Lucius continues, completely ignoring Harry, “that you were well within your rights if you wanted to see Ron and tell him about my –“

 

“Shut up,” Harry says. It’s not funny anymore, all at once. The idea of ratting out Lucius makes Harry feel physically sick.

 

“Ce n’est pas très gentil, Harry,” he says softly and after searching Harry’s eyes for a moment leans down to kiss him.

 

“Why tell me know?” Harry asks even if he means to ask why not tell me earlier.

 

Trust. It hasn’t been exactly an issue for them in the big ways but certainly in the smaller ones.

 

“I deserved my sentence,” Lucius says after a long moment, “I shouldn’t have withheld that information, but I…did. I wanted to leave something to Draco; he had no idea I had invested so heavily in the Muggle world.”

 

“Hm,” Harry murmurs and leans away from Lucius to get up and go to the bathroom and clean himself and –

 

Lucius’ hand is warm where it wraps around Harry’s upper arm.

 

“And I’ve only recently convinced myself you wouldn’t run for the hills after we started this whole – thing,” he says, so very quiet.

 

Harry studies his face for a moment and then allows himself to grin broadly. Lucius frowns at him and opens his mouth to ask a question but Harry beats him to it.

 

“Well, now I know you’re rich after all, I might be less tempted to leave after discovering the truth about your refractory period,” he says breezily and giggles like crazy when Lucius tickles him before moaning through a second round of sex.

 

\--

 

The apartment Lucius owns in Paris is nothing Harry imagined and while he flits from bedroom to living room to the tiny kitchenette, Harry muses once again on the question how he can get to know this complicated man and all the myriads of contradictions that make Lucius Lucius.

 

The apartment is in some trendy, artsy part of town. Harry forgets the name of it pretty much immediately after hearing it; it used to be a much more run-down part of town Lucius tells him while unspelling the wards.

 

It’s not a wizarding area at all and the apartment could at first glance belong to any student on a budget, is so very Muggle in appearance Harry does a double take at first. But it has a tiny balcony overlooking a busy street with the Eiffel Tower visible in the distance and the knives in the kitchen are top quality and the ornaments on each window are very powerful protection charms and the sheets on the bed are pure silk. One piece of expensive artwork hangs over the two Eames chairs in the living room Harry knows Lucius secretly loves; the water in the shower doesn’t run hot at all and the apartment has been off official electricity for years.

 

“I used to live here when I did my apprenticeship as solicitor,” Lucius says, and Harry feels kind of dizzy from all the jumps they are taking.

 

“You’re a solicitor?” he asks, confused and Lucius stops respelling the wards at his tone of voice.

 

“You know I’ve worked in the Ministry,” he says, carefully. There’s an unhappy slant to his mouth that Harry can’t make sense of, so he goes to kiss it away.

 

“I think I didn’t pay enough attention,” Harry says, and Lucius leans their heads together for a moment before focusing again on the wards.

 

\--

 

They go to a restaurant for dinner that looks very Muggle and is most definitely Wizard as Harry discovers while they ride a long and slow lift deep, deep down.

 

Harry might know a lot less of Lucius’ personal history and preferences than he thought but he knows Lucius nonetheless; can tell that he is tense and gripping his wand in his pocket.

 

“You’re free to come here, right?” Harry says when he can’t stand the silence any longer.

 

“Yes,” Lucius says, sounding dismissive, but Harry knows it’s a farce.

 

“Being welcome is the bigger question,” Lucius admits to him just before the lift doors open and Harry is half-ready for battle when the chef de maître sees Lucius and starts smiling so wildly his whole face seems to collapse in half.

 

“Le seigneur Malfoy,” he exclaims, and Harry has no idea what follows after in the rush of French he hears but he guesses from Lucius’ face that the welcome is there. He rather likes the French way of saying Malfoy too.

 

Lucius introduces him, but Harry doesn’t catch the title he’s given and sort of dies of curiosity until they are seated in a cave-like dining area alight with candles and glittering stones above them. The menu is completely in French and Harry starts to feel a little overwhelmed and a bit self-conscious by the whole atmosphere and the wine selection and the fancy names of the food he’s never heard of and Lucius asking him if he has ever eaten sea brass. He shakes his head and stares hard at the menu until Lucius leans forward to catch his eyes.

 

“Just tonight,” he tells Harry softly, “the chef here used to a friend of mine I would like to reconnect with. The maître is his younger brother. Tomorrow we’ll start our holiday for real and I’ll let you have all the peasant foods you like.”

 

“How generous,” Harry mumbles but he feels a little lighter.

 

Lucius chooses the food and the wine and smiles at Harry across the table and tells him to use whichever fork he likes once Harry gets confused. Unsurprisingly, the meal is excellent though Harry would prefer a home-cooked one by Lucius any day and after they are finished, the chef invites them to the kitchen.

 

Once again Harry has no hope of catching anything of the conversation and even though he listens hard for it, the title Lucius uses for him escapes his notice again. The discussion seems to center on pleasantries until the maître comes in and then seems to grow more serious. Lucius frowns and nods a lot and the maître sighs and tuts at him and the chef says “Abraxas” more than once. Harry’s unsure of coming closer or staying at the fringe of the group when he sees Lucius’ hands clench in response to something being said and he is still trying to make up his mind when Lucius glances at him and reaches out to tug him close.

 

“Please excuse my discourtesy,” he says, “my friends’ English is atrocious.”

 

“He is not wrong,” the chef says with a horrible accent and laughs. It breaks up the conversation for good and in front of the lift, Lucius slings an arm around Harry’s shoulder and kisses his ear.

 

“I apologize,” he whispers into Harry’s ear.

 

“Make it up to me by telling me how you introduced me,” Harry says, but Lucius just grins and kisses him.

 

\--

 

For a first holiday, Harry decided a week later, Paris is pretty nice. Lucius is busy in the kitchen and the door to the balcony is open, allowing a gentle breeze to flutter over to where Harry sort of collapsed on one of the Eames chairs after another day of sightseeing.

 

They’ve seen it all by now: The Louvre, the Champs-Elyse, the Eiffel-Tower, Notre dame, and all the other famous signs and attractions. Lucius patiently filled in Harry’s big gaps in French history and culture and found Harry the perfect eclair or espresso or croissant whenever Harry felt like it. The also visited big parts of Wizarding Paris, but Lucius was more guarded there and Harry didn’t like the potential for unwanted attention, so they mostly stayed in Muggle Paris.

 

“My father never went much to Paris at all,” Lucius told Harry one evening when they had taken some bread and wine and cheese to the Seine to enjoy a picnic for dinner and Harry was still not getting over the fact that Lucius Malfoy was casually sitting on the ground dirtying his pants.

 

“It was always my place to be,” Lucius continues, “I did my apprenticeship here, I lived here for almost four years after Hogwarts. I went to both the Muggle and Wizarding parts of Paris; almost all my friends were French.”

 

He looks over at Harry and takes a deep breath and Harry waits him out.

 

“I fell in love here,” he says, “with a Muggle boy named Constantine. I would never have dared to live with another man where my father might find out, but Paris was mine; my friends didn’t betray me, and he had no confidantes in the city.”

 

“What happened to Constantine?” Harry asks after a moment.

 

“I don’t know,” Lucius says, “I lacked the spine to admit to him that I was a wizard and I lacked the spine to contemplate how to fit him in my life. I always knew I would have to return to Wiltshire; I was the only heir to our line and I had a role to fulfil. I was mostly allowed to come to France because it would look good looking for a job at the Ministry later. When my father had secured me a position in the legal department after I finished my apprenticeship I left Constantine without saying goodbye.”

 

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles and Lucius shakes his head at him.

 

“It was my own bloody fault for being putty in my father’s hands,” he says, “I didn’t deserve happiness at that point Harry. I would do horrible things in the years after. I didn’t deserve Constantine or Paris.”

 

“Ferme ta gueule,” Harry says, because he doesn’t want Lucius to sound so sorrowful and also because Lucius chokes beautifully on the sip of wine he just took.

 

“Your accent is atrocious,” Lucius says, but he fucks Harry so hard that night that Harry kind of thinks he rather liked it.

 

\--

 

Lucius can drive a car alright, Harry finds out once Lucius decides that Harry should see some more of France. They had ended up taking a train to Paris, but Lucius rents them a nice little car at the Gare du Nord, packs all their luggage, sends Harry to buy some bread and cheese for the drive and they take off towards the south of France.

 

“I prefer the West coast,” Lucius tells Harry, “we’ll go there afterwards so you can compare.”

 

“Will this holiday ever end?” Harry asks and Lucius laughs.

 

They make it to Lyon that first day and Lucius checks them into the most decadent looking hotel Harry has ever seen.

 

“Will I be allowed to pay for anything?” Harry asks when he sees the bill, but Lucius smiles sweetly at him, answers in French and refuses to hand the check over.

 

They have dinner in a tiny restaurant that is run by two old witches who clearly know Lucius. Harry listens as carefully as he can and does still not catch the title Lucius is giving him, but he refuses to be mad when Lucius smirks at him, challenge clear in his sparkling eyes.

 

The drive further south. The heat is getting more oppressive; Lucius is acquiring a rather lovely tan that Harry gets a little obsessed with; it should be illegal to be this blond and this tan, he thinks. Harry himself burns on more than one beach and Lucius tuts at him while he rubs him down with some potion that does wonders for the itchy, tight feeling of Harry’s skin.

 

They fuck in the car once and on the beach, too. Harry gets obsessed with macarons. They go to Monaco, but Harry hates it there, so they don’t stay for the night. Harry almost drowns three nights later at a plage somewhere close to Cannes and Lucius absolutely refuses to let him get up and go back the next day, insists on using spells helping magical children to learn swimming the next time they end up at the beach. Harry, remembering the look in Lucius’ eyes while he coughed up water, allows him to fret.

 

They have just made their way to Bordeaux when Harry gets an owl from Ron, asking him if he has any knowledge of Lucius Malfoy having left the UK for France. Harry hides the letter for a day before answering angrily that it was news to him that Lucius needed to announce his every move to the Auror department. Ron apologizes in return but insists on having an answer, claiming security reasons and not wanting to bother Lucius with this if Harry is willing to answer for Lucius and Harry writes back petulantly that he has never had a holiday and will not rat out his partner.

 

The next letter he receives is a ten-page essay by Hermione on how she is so happy that Harry can open up to Lucius like this and allows him to take care of Harry this way with a short paragraph by Ron informing him that the issue was been taken care of.

 

Hermione floos them in Quimper and suggest a beach weekend close to Saint-Malo a week later with Ron, Rose, Hugo, Teddy, George and Angelina and Harry agrees with a full heart.

 

It’s the start of Harry’s and Lucius’ first big fight; Lucius absolutely refuses to come along to the beach house Hermione has rented, citing all kinds of reasons. Harry counters and pleads, not willing to go alone, not willing to have their holiday end like this. It takes him two days to wheedle out of Lucius that the real issue is Teddy and Harry goes off at that, saying all kinds of horrible things, accuses Lucius of being anti mixed blood, accuses Lucius of having prejudices against anything that’s not pure.

 

“I just don’t know how we can have a future if you hate my godson,” Harry says at the end. Lucius has been stoic throughout the exchange, barely saying more than a few words while Harry has berated him, face as impassive as it gets whenever he’s under stress, but Harry knows him well enough by now to see how the shutters down at that. Lucius refuses to say anything on the issue at all that night, sleeps on the couch, but the next morning he drives Harry over to the house.

 

“Have fun,” he says, earnestly, and Harry sneers at him and leaves without saying goodbye.

 

It’s nice to be with his friends and family but Harry is in a foul mood and he can’t really hide it. He spits the tea finally with Ron and Hermione while the others are playing in the water and it’s Ron who frowns at him, asking if Harry is sure that Teddy is the problem and not Andromeda and Harry – is a goddamn, colossal idiot.

 

“Fuck,” he says and feels dizzy with it, with the things he has said. He was about to claim that Lucius is a true Death Eater after all and he feels so fucking sorry for that thought. He needs – he needs to go back and apologize.

 

It probably says a lot on how much he has fucked this up that Hermione and Ron instantly agree.

 

Harry apparates as close as he dares to the little one bedroom-apartment Lucius rented in the center of Saint-Malo, walking the remaining distance as fast as he can. He has half a mind to buy flowers or something else to apologize but the need to get to Lucius as fast as he can is overpowering, and Harry ends up all but jogging to the place.

 

Lucius doesn’t open the door when Harry rings the bell so Harry spells it open, heart beating faster and faster.

 

Lucius is sitting out on the little backyard balcony, head in his hands, whiskey glass next to him. Harry is almost thrown by the Deja-vu; even the crying is soundless again. But Harry doesn’t turn away this time, grabs to secure Lucius’ wand hand when Lucius violently starts when Harry falls to his knees next to him. Harry kisses his eyes and cheeks and mouth and nose, whispering sorry all over him until Lucius grabs him to hold him still.

 

“Harry,” he says, and his voice breaks halfway through Harry’s name and he sounds so hurt and awful and Harry’s crying now too, apologizing again.

 

They end up in bed, wrapped in each other. Lucius tells him of how Andromeda told him years ago to stay away from Teddy; tells him of the nightmares he has of Bellatrix and how he sees both Narcissa and Bellatrix in Andromeda even if no one else does.

 

“Andromeda doesn’t think I’m a good relation for Teddy to have,” Lucius says in the end and it’s so clear that he struggles with it, probably even agrees with it in parts; it’s so clear that it has hit home and has hit home deep when Harry has accused him of petty-mindedness.

 

Harry apologizes again.

 

Lucius insists on driving him back to his friends for dinner. Harry tries to refuse but he can tell that Lucius is exhausted, is sad and hurt and so he agrees in the end, holding Lucius hand through the drive whenever Lucius doesn’t need it to change gears.

 

They sit in the car in silence for a long moment after Lucius parks in front of the house.

 

“How can I make this right again?” Harry asks.

 

Lucius reaches out and cups his cheek after a moment.

 

“It will be alright with time,” he says, and Harry turns his face to press a kiss against his palm, trying to hide how much the answer is hurting him, how much he was yearning for quicker forgiveness.

 

“Want to know what I call you when I introduce you?” Lucius asks, and it takes Harry so freaking long to make the connection and then he feels horrible all over again.

 

“What I said is not true at all,” Harry says, words almost tripping over each other in the haste to get them out, “I didn’t even think for a second we wouldn’t have a future, I just – I just wanted to say something dramatic and hurtful and I am so, so, so sorry, Lucius, I am so –“

 

“Okay,” Lucius interrupts and kisses him and Harry can feel some of that awful tension bleeding away from him. Shit, Harry can’t believe what he almost did to them and he holds on to Lucius, can’t leave that bloody car.

 

“I don’t want to know it,” Harry says softly, “I want to figure it out myself. Will you let me?”

 

“Oh Harry,” Lucius says and kisses him, deeply.

  
“Je t’adore tellement, je ne saurais pas quoi faire sans toi,” Lucius says very softly when they break their kiss and Harry has an inkling what he said, and more than shares the sentiment and kisses him again.

 

They both almost jump in the air when Andromeda raps her knuckles against Lucius’ window.

 

Harry tries not to overhear their conversation, but it’s hard to control himself. Andromeda looks tall and calm and composed and Lucius looks – Harry’s not sure. He looks tired and sad, but something else too, something that looks a little like determination and apprehension at the same time. When they come back to where Harry’s waiting, Lucius reaches for him and takes his hand.

 

“Let’s go see your friends,” he says softly, and Harry presses his hand as hard has he can.

 

The evening is nice enough after that; Hermione made sure that they had Galettes and Crepes and some shells to eat and the wine even pleases Lucius’ taste. Harry does some snooping and finds out that it was Ron who talked to Andromeda after Harry had left and Harry is thankful for that even though he’s also unsure how much Lucius appreciates the gesture.

 

Lucius is timid and unusually quiet throughout dinner, staying close to Harry’s side. He talks to Teddy for a bit about Hogwarts, answers some of Rose’s question about his hair (“how is it so shiny, how is it so blond, how is it so soft, how is it so straight”) and smiles a genuine smile at her, but he barely reacts to Ron’s good-natured jibs in his direction (or to George’s less good-natured ones). When Andromeda gets up suddenly to shout for Teddy to stop teaching Hugo to jump from the stairs, Lucius goes so very still next to Harry that Harry is for a second convinced he’s just been hit with an Avada Kedavra.

 

They drive back that night even though there’s a free bedroom for them at the house. When Harry wanted to explain to Hermione, Ron butted in saying, “we get it, go home and work it out,” before Harry could guilt-trip himself too much.

 

The drive is very quiet.

 

“I’m sorry,” Lucius says at one point.

 

“Do I want to know what Bellatrix did to you?” Harry asks, carefully.

 

“No,” Lucius says after a moment, “but I will tell you some of it if you insist.”

 

“Ok,” Harry says and studies Lucius for a long moment.

 

“And Narcissa?” he asks then.

 

Lucius breaths in deeply and then finds a tiny little dirt road to park the car. When he switches off the engine, the only light comes from the moon and stars above.

 

They stretch out on a blanket from the trunk, Lucius head pillowed on Harry’s shoulder.

 

Lucius’ voice is steady when he recalls life with an enemy in his own home; the fights and the struggle for Draco, the constant lying about Lucius’ sexuality, the years when Narcissa and Abraxas collaborated to make his life a living hell, the years when Bellatrix took that spot.

 

“She was a powerful witch,” Lucius says in the end, “not nearly as powerful as Bellatrix, but nonetheless a formidable opponent. They had a horrible childhood, all three of them and they were all differently fucked up. Bella and Narcissa liked to make me as miserable as they could, loved to see me brought low and pleading and begging for them to stop what they had come up with. I know that Andromeda looks different and is a different person, but sometimes when she laughs or is angry or the way she lifts her hand, it just – reminds me of one of them.”

 

“What did they do to you exactly?” Harry asks. His heart is beating steady and strong and his arms don’t shake where he wrapped them around Lucius, even if it takes all of his willpower.

 

“Please don’t make me tell,” Lucius says after a long moment and his voice sounds so raw that Harry kisses him before Lucius has finished his sentence.

 

\--

 

Lucius insists on going back to the house the next day and so they drive back early in the morning.

 

Lucius is more relaxed that day. They spent the morning touring Saint-Malo and Hermione goes on a jealous rampage when she hears that Lucius speaks French fluently, insisting that he stops speaking English altogether to her.

 

They run into someone Lucius knows – Harry has once again no change of catching from where or when – just after settling down for lunch and Harry manages to hear his name in the barrage of French coming his way; Hermione smirks so hard, Harry considers strangling her until he catches Andromeda’s quieter, softer smile.

 

The afternoon is spent at the beach and Harry falls asleep on Lucius’ shoulder. When he wakes back up his skin is already red and dying again but it’s worth it for the fond smile Lucius gives him when he snuggles against him.

 

They go swimming with the kids after a while; Lucius tells Ron about Harry’s almost drowning and Hermione and Ron instantly start berating Harry so much he fears he will never hear the end of it. He dives underneath a wave just to spite them and comes back up coughing and spluttering a moment later. Lucius rolls his eyes but steadies Harry anyway until he has gotten the rest of the water out of his nose.

 

They go to a Wizarding restaurant for dinner that overlooks the ocean from a giant terrace. Harry has once again no idea what most of the menu says and he settles back with a glass of wine after telling Lucius to choose for him, looking at Teddy’s and Rose’s beach hair, Hugo’s eager face while Hermione feeds him some baby food, Andromeda listening intently to Angelina’s tales of becoming a magical creature healer. George and Ron are talking Quidditch and Harry leans forward to catch Lucius’ lips in a soft and slow kiss.

 

Lucius smiles at him when he draws back, and the setting sun illuminates his hair (“is it fairy hair?” Rose had asked earlier) and Harry is hit with a sudden longing to never have this holiday end.

 

\--

 

They say goodbye after a decadent brunch that lasts three hours. Lucius insists on driving back to Quimper, claiming that Harry hasn’t seen all the area has to offer.

It’s a rather cloudy, gloomy day for once and Harry spends much of the drive sleepy, looking out of the window without seeing much.

 

Lucius books them into a moldy, old hotel this time and orders room service while Harry takes a shower and then Lucius sits down to read the business pages of the newspaper he bought while getting gas. Harry drapes himself across his back, hugging his neck, while they wait for the food.

 

Lucius eats Harry’s ass that night in a way that makes Harry sure he has died and gone to heaven.

 

\--

 

They need to return the car to Paris which gives them another night at Lucius’ apartment.  Lucius makes them a light salad, toasts some bread and opens yet another bottle of wine and they have it on the balcony while looking at the Eiffel Tower.

 

“Is it the holiday that had you so relaxed in the last weeks?” Harry asks. He has been wondering in the last few days; the nearer their return to Wiltshire has drawn the sadder Lucius has gotten.

 

“No,” Lucius admits after a pause, “I’ve always preferred France over England. I spent my happiest years here. I can’t help but think – how my life would have been if I hadn’t returned at all.”

 

“You would be working at the place you had your apprenticeship at, right?” Harry asks.

 

Lucius sighs and takes another sip of wine.

 

“Maybe,” he says.

 

“You’ve been avoiding it, haven’t you?” Harry asks.

 

“My master has been very vocal with his disappointment in me,” Lucius says after a long moment and then gets up to put their dirty dishes away.

 

“I wouldn’t mind moving here, either,” Harry says so very quietly to Lucius’ back that he is sure Lucius can’t have heard him.

 

\--

 

That night, Harry sucks Lucius forever and then puts to use what Hermione has taught him while she giggled hysterically.

 

“Lucius,” he says, just before Lucius is about to glide into him, and tries to make it sound as French as possible.

 

“Hmm?” Lucius answers, clearly distracted from how his dick is teasing Harry’s rim and Harry grins at himself; if his theory is correct, this is almost too easy.

 

“J’ai envie de toi,” Harry says.

 

Lucius goes completely still for a moment and then shudders so hard that Harry can feel it in his balls.

 

“Merde,” Lucius says once he has himself back under control. Harry smiles very sweetly.

 

“Oh my god, Harry, shut up,” Lucius hisses when Harry opens his mouth again.

 

“Défonce-moi,” Harry says and Lucius swoops forward, takes him in one single, long thrust that’s only possible because Lucius is very big on prepping Harry and starts fucking him so hard immediately Harry sees stars.

 

“Tu me rends fou,” Lucius says, hoarsely and leans down to kiss Harry, tongue thrusting into his mouth in time with his dick thrusting into Harry’s ass and Harry is already pretty much there, feels his orgasm building at the end of his spine.

 

“Plus forte,” Harry says and can’t think of any of the other things Hermione told him, but he doesn’t even have to, because Lucius keens above him, leans down again to kiss him and then they are both coming and then Harry passes out for a while.

 

He comes back to Lucius wiping a wet cloth over his ass, eyes intense and dark. He must have spelled out the lights; the room is only illuminated by two single candles softly hovering in the air; it’s a spell Harry just can’t get right no matter how often he tries.

 

“Harry,” Lucius says, “tu me rends si heureux.”

 

Harry grins.

 

\--

 

Harry is a bit maudlin while they wait for the train the next morning.

 

“I think I am addicted to holidays now,” he tells Lucius as accusingly as he can while they stand in line to have a last coffee in Paris (and in Harry’s case, a few more macarons).

 

“Je suis désolé mon chérie,“ Lucius says without really paying attention, focused instead on the paper he’s been reading since they boarded the métro and Harry’s heart gives sort of a hard twinge at that because he knows enough French by now to know what Lucius just called him.

 

No one has never given him a pet name and Harry – Harry wants to have a pet name all the time.

 

“I thought it’s cher for men,” Harry says, because he can’t help himself fishing for more. He knows he is blushing; can’t help that either.

 

Lucius’ gaze on him turns very calculating once he looks up.

 

“Stop learning French,” he says, “I like it too much to say things to you you don’t understand.”

 

In the train Harry puts his head against Lucius’ shoulder while he watches the last of Paris pass them by. Harry starts fiddling around with Lucius’ cufflinks a moment later until Lucius sighs and puts the paper away to take Harry’s hand.

 

“What’s wrong, Harry?” he says.

 

Harry shrugs.

 

“Going to miss Paris,” he says which is the truth but also not the full truth.

 

“We can go back any time,” Lucius says softly and then leans down to whisper in Harry’s ear: “mon chérie”.

 

\--

 

Lucius is busy reading the paper, looking impeccable as always. He’s probably been awake for at least three hours while Harry lazed around in bed and thought of macarons. Harry only managed to drag himself out of their bedroom when he smelled coffee and orange juice and after Lucius send up a flying macaron that swished out of Harry’s reach until he got up and followed it down to the kitchen.

 

Harry can’t help it; post-holiday blues has been hitting him particularly hard.

 

“Would you want kids?” Harry asks just when Lucius is about to take a sip from his coffee.

 

Lucius freezes, staring at Harry over the rim of his cup. Harry grins; he’s pretty sure Lucius is having a heart attack.

 

“What the fuck Harry?” Lucius says and Harry grins wider until Lucius puts down his cup with too much force, spilling coffee over his crisp white shirt. Harry takes pity on him then.

 

“Sorry,” he says, and hands over the envelope from St. Mungo’s he got yesterday. It’s a reminder for a check-up of Harry’s reproductive organs with a cautioning remark that he only has three more years until any future pregnancy will be high risk due to his ripe old age of 35.

 

“Time appears to be running out,” Harry says and wiggles his eyebrows at Lucius who is scanning the letter. When Lucius looks up he is a lot sincerer than Harry was going for.

 

“What do you want Harry?” he asks, very quietly.

 

“Er,” Harry says. They stare at each other.

 

“I asked first,” Harry says because he is a coward. Lucius smiles at that, a tiny, barely there smile.

 

“I don’t want any more kids,” he says, voice still very quiet, “but I understand that you have a longing for a family and I –“

 

“I don’t want kids either,” Harry says, slightly panicked now, “I was making a joke. Sorry it fell flat.”

 

Lucius just looks at him for a long time.

 

“If I hadn’t lost the baby,” Harry starts and stops again. They continue staring at each other.

 

“If I hadn’t lost the baby,” Harry says again, “I would have dealt with being a Dad somehow, but now that I can make a conscious decision, I very seriously do not want a child.”

 

“Why?” Lucius asks.

 

“I only just managed to deal with myself,” Harry says, “I only just got over – whatever you want to call it, trauma or depression or whatever. I only just feel as if I – get to know my adult self, you know?”

  
“I know, Harry,” Lucius says and leans forward.

 

“That it was Draco’s and that Draco –“

  
“Killed himself,” Lucius says when Harry can’t go on.

 

“ – killed himself,” Harry says and shudders, “was a big part of why I wanted to keep it.”

 

“I know,” Lucius says again. He looks a tiny bit miserable like he usually does when Draco is mentioned.

 

“And now I’m selfish,” Harry says, “I want you all for myself.”

 

“I wouldn’t stop caring for you if we had a child,” Lucius tells him, still in that quiet voice.

 

“Are you somehow arguing in favor of a baby now?” Harry asks. Lucius shakes his head no before he has finished.

 

“No,” Lucius says, “I went through having a child once and I would very much prefer not doing it again, giving how I performed the last time. I just wanted you to know that I would not – there’s nothing – chérie, il n'y a rien qui me fera arrêter de prendre soin de toi.“

 

“Oh, come on,” Harry groans and Lucius sighs and reaches out to take Harry’s hands in his.

 

“There is nothing that will stop me from taking care of you,” Lucius says, very soft.

 

Harry has to swallow a few times before he can answer again.

 

“It feels good to hear that,” he whispers, “that feeling is very mutual you know? And I’m objecting to the father performance remark. Mon petit trouillard.”

 

Lucius snorts.

  
“You have no idea what that word means, do you,” he says, fondly, and kisses Harry’s knuckles.

 

“No,” Harry says cheerfully.

 

“I would be insulted otherwise,” Lucius says, and Harry knows that gleam in his eyes and they are fucking five minutes later across the kitchen table.

 

He doesn’t go to the check-up.

 

\--

 

Harry quits his job on impulse in early October.

 

Lucius lets him rant for an hour when Harry comes home that night and immediately starts guilt-tripping himself.

 

“I think it’s a good decision,” he says when Harry can finally calm down enough to actually listen to Lucius’ input.

 

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” Harry says and flops all over Lucius on the sofa.

 

“You’re changing because you have started to deal with and manage a number of untreated mental health issues in the last two years, Harry,” Lucius says and arranges them until Harry is not crushing him to death.

 

“That’s a good thing you know. It’s only natural that a job you started with 20 is not satisfactory any longer.”

 

“But I don’t have any idea what to do now,” Harry whines and hides his face against Lucius’ armpit.

 

“You’re not exactly in a position where you have to work or starve, idiot,” Lucius says much too fondly for the lowlife Harry has become, “if you actually bothered about anything I do with your money since you asked me to invest some of it, you would know it has done rather well, recently.”

 

“Meh,” Harry says and squishes himself harder.

 

“Just give yourself some time,” Lucius says, very gently.

 

\--

 

Ron predictably suggests auroring and then proceeds to get Harry drunk when Harry gets maudlin at the suggestion.

 

“How about something with social justice?” Hermione asks when she finds them in her living room and Harry groans and gets drunker.

 

“Jokes, Harry,” George says a short while later, “jokes is where it’s at!”

 

“Sure,” Harry says and falls asleep on Hugo’s baby blanket.

 

\--

 

It’s Hermione who sends him the ad from Beauxbatons and it takes Harry exactly one second to know that this is exactly what he wants.

 

He doesn’t tell Lucius at first; he doesn’t want to get either of their hopes up and he has no real clue if Lucius would actually move to France with him even though Harry’s sure he would be happier there. The Manor is weighing on both of their minds since enjoying the relative freedom France gave them.

 

The interview is going well; Harry does not necessarily have much expertise in the realm of teaching, but the curriculum outline he proposes is sound and not many people can write “killing off Voldemort” on their resumé.

 

Besides, Madame Maxime remembers him favorably and they spent a long moment reminiscing over Hogwarts and the Triwizard Tournament.

 

The only issue remains his French, but Harry can tell that the board the Madame Maxime are eager to have him at Beauxbatons and are willing to work something out while Harry is more than willing to improve his French even if his motivation is far from pure.

 

Nonetheless, Harry isn’t willing to hide much longer and before signing the contract, asks to speak with Madame Maxime about a private matter.

 

“I’m in a relationship with Lucius Malfoy,” he tells her and watches her face just when she remembers who that is.

 

“Mon dieu,” she says, and Harry has to grin; it’s so French.

 

“The private lives of my teachers don’t interest me,” she tells him, “as long as their professional integrity is above all doubts.”

 

“Thanks,” Harry says and agrees to start on the first of January.

 

\--

 

Lucius is cooking them dinner when Harry gets back and plasters himself against his back.

 

“Done with your secret trip?” he asks and bats Harry’s hands away from his pot where something is smelling delicious.

 

“I have a new job,” Harry tells him and waits for Lucius to turn around.

 

“Beauxbatons,” he says and studies Lucius’ face, “Defense against the Dark Arts.”

 

Lucius swallows a few times before smiling at him. It’s strained; Harry who knows how little true emotion Lucius can show on his face, gives the effort a troll.

 

“I’m sure that will suit you just fine,” Lucius says and then turns back to his cooking, blinking rapidly.

 

Harry watches a tear drop in silent sorrow into the pasta sauce and feels all his euphoria vaporize just like that.

 

“You’re not happy,” he says.

 

“I am very happy for you,” Lucius says, insistently, but he doesn’t turn around to face Harry, clearly fighting against his tears and it takes Harry a moment to catch the very faint inclination on the _you_ in that sentence.

 

“Oh, you idiot,” Harry breaths out, “I want you to come with me, of course.”

 

Lucius shudders at that, drawing in a huge, wet gasp and then staggers over to sit on a chair before Harry can get to him.

 

“Are you trying to give me a heart-attack,” Lucius says weakly, and presses his face against Harry’s abdomen, still breathing too fast.

 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Harry says and pets Lucius’ hair, “I thought after just declaring our feelings in this very place over the whole baby thing, it would be obvious that I didn’t want to go alone.”

 

“Harry,” Lucius says and looks up at him, voice so pleading that it stops Harry in his tracks, “how could I go with you? I can’t settle somewhere else permanently; I have to check in every few months with the Auror department, I would tarnish your reputation and –“

 

“I told Madame Maxime about you already,” Harry says, suddenly completely calm. This is self-doubt at its worst; this is something Harry can deal with.

 

“You – what?” Lucius says, eyes wide and frantic on Harry’s face and Harry is hit once again with the complete dissonance between the Lucius of his youth and this Lucius; how they can be the same person is beyond Harry.

 

“Darling,” Harry says, very deliberately. He knows he is not the only one with a kink a mile wide for pet names, “breathe, please.”

 

Lucius groans and nods and they both wait for him to center his breathing.

 

Once Lucius slumps against Harry’s belly, Harry starts talking again.

 

“You’ve been so happy in France,” he starts, “and so carefree and so relaxed. I know it wasn’t just the holiday; I know it’s easier to go somewhere where people do not immediately recognize us all the time. I told Madame Maxime about you, because I did not want to give her reason for a scene later on; we both know that we’ve been very lucky so far with the Prophet not finding out about us.”

 

Harry swallows hard then.

 

“And even if they would find out,” he goes on after a moment, “you must know that I wouldn’t care what they write about us. I can’t imagine my life without you. It took me 30 years to be truly happy and you are such a big part of that happiness and I cannot be ashamed of you, and if some people want to believe that you tarnish my reputation, then so be it. I know you, and that’s – that’s all that matters.”

 

“Harry,” Lucius says very softly.

 

“Come to France with me,” Harry whispers and leans down to kiss him, “start working again at your old place, let us buy a bigger apartment with a bigger kitchen in which we can sit and chat like we do here. You’ll need to teach me French and you’ll need me to allow to love you and make you happy because I want to, and you deserve it.”

 

Lucius reaches out to him then, drags him down in his lap and hugging Harry so close that Harry doubts a sheet of paper would pass between them. He is shaking just a tiny bit, can tell that Lucius is as moved as he is.

 

“Okay,” Lucius says against his neck and Harry lets himself rest against him.

 

\--

 

“I love you too, by the way,” Lucius says later that night. Harry’s the little spoon as usual and about to drop off to sleep and he smiles against Lucius’ arm.


End file.
